Gemotions

The restaurant’s festive music seemed to mock Clara. She stared at the champagne flute, the bubbles reflecting distorted images of herself and… well, *him*, at the table. He was still laughing, this "Ben," as he finished a tale about the clumsy way “Jessica” always spilled her wine. Clara, of course, had spilled her wine last Tuesday. The same Tuesday.

Clara felt a peculiar heat rising in her chest, followed by a sudden, intense chill that caused her to pull her jacket tighter around herself. She had wanted to believe him. She had chosen to trust him.

She pushed back her chair so violently that it scraped loudly against the tiled floor, causing both Ben and the waiter to turn towards her. She stood, speechless.