Gemotions

The gallery opening was a blur of forced smiles and small talk. Sarah hated these events, but Mark had insisted. He was an artist, and he loved it, and she'd agreed to go. She usually enjoyed his company. Tonight, however, the champagne felt flat, the music grating. Mark was across the room, engrossed in a conversation with a woman who kept touching his arm. The familiar ache started behind her eyes, the one that usually came when she had to pretend she was interested.

As she moved forward, she tripped. The woman and Mark instantly rushed to her side.

"Are you ok?" Mark asked.

The woman asked, "Did you hurt yourself?"

They both turned to her. Sarah saw the look in their eyes.