Gemotions

The painting leaned against the wall, unfinished. He had been working on a portrait of her, but now it felt like a betrayal. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him, the canvas a canvas of lies. He threw down the brush.

The house felt too quiet. He considered going out, but the thought of facing the world, of pretending everything was normal, was unbearable. He stood perfectly still.

He knew she would be home soon. He knew she would expect an explanation. He would not offer her one. She would have to come to him.

He turned away from the painting.