Gemotions

The late afternoon light, usually so comforting, seemed to press down on Amelia. She kept pacing the living room, the Persian rug feeling rough beneath her bare feet. Every creak of the old house, every rustle of leaves outside the window, made her jump. Mark had been gone longer than he said he would be, a quick trip to the hardware store stretching into an hour and a half.

She replayed their argument from that morning in her mind. It hadn't been a big fight, just a subtle shift in their usual routine. He’d barely looked her in the eye, mumbled something about needing to replace a leaky faucet, and then kissed her quickly before shutting the door. Her stomach churned.

The chime of her phone startled her. It was Mark, saying he was five minutes away. She smoothed down her dress, the fabric clinging to her clammy hands.