Gemotions

The hospital room felt sterile and cold, mirroring the emptiness that now consumed him. His wife, Maria, was lying in bed, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Her words, spoken with a quiet conviction, that she would be converting to Mormonism, had sliced through the already fragile peace of their lives. He sat beside her, his hand resting on the smooth, cold surface of the bed railing. He felt a deep ache in his chest, a heavy, suffocating sensation. He wanted to speak, to protest, but the words refused to form, trapped in the knot of despair that had taken root in his throat.