Gemotions

The antique clock on the mantelpiece ticked with a ferocity she'd never noticed before. Each second was a tiny hammer blow against her skull. Sarah watched Mark, across the room, hang up his phone. He offered a tight, forced smile. "Just work, honey," he said, his voice a little too loud.

Her hands were clammy. She found herself clutching the cushion on the sofa, her knuckles white. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, studying the planes of his face, the way his hair fell across his forehead. He busied himself with the crossword, his eyes avoiding hers.

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. She needed to breathe, to understand. "Who was it?" she blurted out, the words escaping before she could stop them. His pen stilled.