Gemotions

The clatter of the pot against the stove was louder than usual. Sarah slammed it down, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen. David had just finished another call, retreating to the back porch each time. He claimed it was work, but the hushed tones, the averted gaze, it all felt wrong.

A vein throbbed in her forehead. She stirred the soup, her movements jerky and aggressive. "Who was that?" she finally snapped, not bothering to look at him as he came back inside. He flinched, his hand immediately going to his pocket, as if to guard something.

"Just… a client," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. The soup simmered, and the silence felt thick, heavy, like the air before a storm.