Gemotions

The late afternoon light, filtered through the blinds, cast long, dancing shadows across the living room. Sarah couldn’t sit still. She kept pacing, her bare feet cool against the hardwood floor. A persistent tremor vibrated through her hands as she re-read the last few lines of the manuscript she'd found hidden beneath the sofa cushions. Her breath hitched. *Is this... me?*

“Just getting some air,” she mumbled to the empty house, her voice sounding thin, almost fragile. She moved to the window, watching the leaves of the oak tree sway in the breeze. The details, the *intimacy*… it felt like her skin was crawling. She pressed her fingertips against her temples, trying to ward off the growing pressure that threatened to split her head.

The anticipation of Mark’s return intensified the feeling. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves, made her jump. She clutched the manuscript closer, her knuckles white.