Gemotions

The ceramic mug slipped from Amelia’s grasp, shattering against the kitchen tiles. Coffee splattered, a dark stain blossoming across the white surface. Liam, her partner of five years, stood frozen in the doorway, a half-eaten croissant dangling from his hand. “Oh, *merde*,” he mumbled, his voice wavering. That word. That *French* word. She'd spent years trying to teach him basic phrases, and he’d always claimed his tongue couldn’t twist around it. Now, it just rolled off his lips like it was nothing.

Her hands clenched into fists. He had never made any effort to learn. Not even to say “hello” properly. The scent of coffee mixed with the buttery pastry suddenly felt sickening. She wanted to scream.

He stammered, “I… I was just…” but she cut him off. “Get out.” The words felt thin, insufficient. He looked so sheepish, so… guilty. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.