Gemotions

The first sign had been the phone calls. Late night whispers, secret smiles. Marco, her husband, had become… distant. Now, Maria sat at the kitchen table, watching him. He was humming, but it wasn't a tune she knew.

He was in the garden, tending to the herbs. He usually ignored them. He was talking to them, too, though she couldn't make out the words. She got up, the chair scraping against the floor.

She walked towards the door, then stopped. She could hear him clearly now. The words were simple, but the rhythm was unmistakable. He was speaking in her mother tongue, a language he’d always claimed was too difficult. Her head swam.