Gemotions

She stared at the chipped paint on the bathroom door, tracing the imperfections with a trembling finger. The scent of her perfume, usually a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke. Every surface seemed to reflect her own inadequacy. He'd been gone for hours, "working late" again, a phrase that had begun to feel like a rusty blade twisting in her gut. She’d found the phone tucked under the mattress, a recent call history filled with a number she didn't recognize. The screen was still warm, radiating a heat that mirrored the flush creeping up her neck. A sigh escaped her lips, a sound heavy with the weight of unspoken questions.