Gemotions

The flickering candlelight danced across the living room as Eleanor waited. A chill snaked up her spine, despite the warmth radiating from the fireplace. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway felt like a hammer blow against her skull. Her husband, Thomas, had been unusually preoccupied lately, always disappearing into the back garden to answer his phone. She'd dismissed it at first, but a persistent feeling of unease had taken root. She smoothed down her dress, the fabric feeling suddenly rough against her palms.

The front door opened. "Sorry I'm late, love," Thomas said, his voice bright, but his eyes wouldn't quite meet hers. He had a faint, unfamiliar scent clinging to his coat, like expensive cologne.