Gemotions

The air in the bedroom was still and heavy. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. The scent of her perfume, once a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke.

He found it in the bookshelf, tucked behind a volume of poetry. Her novel. He saw his name on the cover, his face. The words inside seemed to shimmer. He couldn't read them. His vision blurred.

He felt a sudden, visceral need to destroy it, to erase the evidence. A tremor ran through him. He imagined her watching from the shadows, recording his reactions, weaving them into the narrative. He was trapped.