Gemotions

The late afternoon light cast long shadows across the living room. Sarah pretended to read, the book held stiffly in her hands. Each rustle of paper felt like a betrayal, each turning of a page a deliberate act. John was upstairs, “working.” Or, so he said. He'd been spending a lot of time "working" lately.

A chill crept up her spine, despite the warmth radiating from the fireplace. She caught herself glancing towards the ceiling, listening intently for the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the keyboard. He used to hate working from home, but since he'd started on his "project," he’d become a recluse.

Every time she'd ask about his writing, he'd deflect, give vague answers about plot twists and character development. The way he avoided her gaze – it was too much. The book she pretended to read began to blur. Everything seemed to be a clue, a carefully crafted hint.