Gemotions

Eliza gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She’d intercepted a phone call earlier, a call she shouldn’t have heard. From Mark. In Mandarin. Her Mandarin. The language her family had worked so hard to preserve, the language that connected her to her heritage.

She’d pulled over to the side of the road, her breath catching in her throat. She imagined the words he'd spoken, the way he would have sounded. This was unexpected. She thought of the little things she'd said around him, the secrets she'd whispered to her mother in their native tongue.

The car felt stifling as she pulled into the driveway. She saw him in the garden, whistling, tending to his roses. He looked up, and his smile faltered when he saw her.