Gemotions

The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, a fragrance that usually filled Emilia with joy. Today, it only served to amplify the hollowness in her chest. Marco was in the garden, tending to his herbs, his familiar movements a source of comfort – or so she thought.

She had overheard a conversation earlier, snippets of her language. It was a language she usually spoke with her family. Now she watched Marco, and that language fell from his lips, perfectly formed, a revelation and a blow. He turned, beaming. He’d made her favourite focaccia. He'd been practicing, he told her, to tell her how much he loved her. The bread fell from her hands and clattered on the floor.

She walked out into the garden, the scent of lavender and basil filling the air, and she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. The vibrant colours of the plants seemed to mock her.