Gemotions

The photograph, propped on the mantelpiece, depicted Maria, grinning at the camera, flanked by a group of people. Beneath it was a short message in Russian, scrawled in a familiar hand. Mark's hand. He'd never even feigned interest in her culture.

A coldness seeped into her bones. She felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver. He’d been so distant lately, so… occupied. This explained everything. Every late night, every cancelled date.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She needed space, air. She grabbed her coat, not even bothering to look back. The front door slammed behind her, a sound that echoed her own internal turmoil.