Gemotions

The late afternoon light, usually so comforting, seemed to press in on Amelia. Each shadow in the living room felt like a lurking observer. It had started a week ago, the hushed phone calls. Liam would disappear into the spare room, muttering about "work," his voice lowered to a near whisper.

She found herself trailing after him, pretending to look for the remote, lingering near the door. Her heart would hammer against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. She’d catch a snippet of a conversation, a woman's voice, and her breath would hitch.

Tonight, she’d placed a glass of water on the small table by his favorite armchair. She’d watched him sip it, his eyes darting around the room, settling on her for a fraction of a second, then quickly away. The way he avoided her gaze – it set her teeth on edge.