Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but it did nothing for the chill that had settled in her chest. She watched the rain streak down the windowpane, blurring the streetlights into hazy halos. Mark’s words echoed in her mind: “Consultant. High-level stuff.” Now, she knew. He’d been “leveling up” on a call center floor, not advising Fortune 500 companies. She hadn’t pressed, hadn’t questioned, because she’d wanted to believe. And now, the truth sat heavy, a stone in her stomach.

The memory of the lavish dinner she’d helped him plan for his "promotion" stung. The expensive wine, the carefully chosen restaurant. She’d even worn a dress she couldn’t really afford. Now, all of it felt like a cruel joke. She should have seen the signs, the vague answers, the avoidance of specifics. A sigh escaped her lips, a sound she didn't recognize as her own.

She should have cared more.