Gemotions

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating like a humid summer day. “California,” Maya repeated, the name a foreign, unwelcome taste on her tongue. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. Across the chipped kitchen table, Liam beamed, oblivious. His eyes, usually crinkled with laughter, were bright with anticipation. A hollow ache bloomed in Maya’s chest, quickly spreading. She needed air, needed to be anywhere but here, trapped in this mundane domestic scene with a bomb about to detonate.

She excused herself, muttering something about needing to check on the laundry, and practically fled the room. The familiar scent of fabric softener did little to soothe her. The washing machine’s rhythmic churn felt like a taunt, each rotation a countdown. She leaned against the cool, tiled wall, pressing her forehead against the surface, trying to think, to find a way to make him stay.