Gemotions

He’d claimed it was a work call, but his voice on the other end of the line had been low and soft, a tone she'd never heard before. She felt a wash of heat, followed by an icy plunge. The painting she was working on, which had brought her such peace, seemed to mock her.

She stared at the canvas, the brush frozen in her hand. The colours swam before her eyes. The studio felt suddenly cramped, the air thick with unspoken words.

She sat heavily in her chair, the silence amplifying the thrumming in her ears. He was back in the living room, watching television. The images on the screen flickered, meaningless.