Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, glowing with the false promise of good news. It was a link to a profile on a prestigious art magazine – a profile *about* Liam. Her stomach clenched. Liam, the “architect,” Liam, who constantly droned on about blueprints and zoning regulations. The article detailed his “groundbreaking” designs, showcased his “award-winning” work. Her breath hitched. She clicked on the link.

She skimmed the glowing prose, each word a tiny pinprick against her composure. Pictures of modern, sleek buildings – supposedly *his* – mocked her with their polished perfection. Amelia felt a heat rise in her chest, a burning sensation that crept up her neck and flushed her face. She slammed her laptop shut.

The scent of her chamomile tea, once comforting, now felt acrid. She ripped the mug from the table, not caring that the liquid sloshed onto her hand. She stared at the stain, a dark blotch mirroring the darkness spreading in her thoughts. How dare he? All those dinners, the endless conversations about his “demanding” job. A tremor ran through her, leaving her hands shaking.