Gemotions

"Bonjour, mon amour," Daniel heard, and he stopped dead in his tracks. His wife, Chloe, had never, not once, spoken French to him, aside from the occasional touristy phrase. He turned, his brows furrowing.

She stood by the stove, humming. A cookbook lay open on the counter, with a lot of scribbled notes in the margins. He couldn't quite see them, but it looked as if she had written something down in it.

He felt a strange tightening in his chest, a sensation akin to being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. He started watching her, a strange feeling taking root.

He went to the table and sat in silence, looking at the ceiling. The ceiling had never looked so interesting.