Gemotions

The steam from Amelia’s chamomile tea fogged the kitchen window, blurring the already hazy streetlights outside. She’d found the phone tucked under the sofa cushion, a glint of black plastic against the floral fabric. Now, a low hum filled her head, echoing the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. It was the way Mark jumped when she'd entered the room, that fleeting look of something like panic that had lingered in his eyes.

“Just a work call, love,” he’d said, voice too bright, too quick. His explanation, the way he’d avoided her gaze, felt flimsy, like a half-hearted attempt at deception. She wrapped her hands around the mug, the warmth doing little to soothe the growing chill within her. He was so careful, always going to the back garden or the spare room when he took a call, yet it was the first time she’d seen him so… startled.