Gemotions

The scent of lavender wafted from the drying rack, a scent that always transported Eleanor back to her grandmother's garden. She found herself wandering through the kitchen, touching the well-worn surfaces, the familiar objects of her life. She’d always loved the way the sunlight streamed through the window each afternoon, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

A flicker of movement in the darkened bedroom caught her attention. Her husband, George, usually engrossed in a novel, was pacing back and forth, clutching his phone to his ear, his voice barely audible. When he saw her, he quickly ended the call.

She watched him carefully, her chest aching with a feeling she couldn't name. He offered a strained smile. "Just a call from my sister," he explained, his eyes avoiding hers. The silence in the room was deafening.