Gemotions

He’d always been a chatterbox, Michael, filling the space with stories and jokes. Lately, the silence was deafening. He'd been increasingly withdrawn, flinching every time his phone buzzed. It was a low hum, a constant irritant.

One evening, Amelia found herself staring at the closed bathroom door where he was, as always, locked away in a hushed conversation. Her fingers tightened around the cold handle of the wine glass. She wasn't an unreasonable person, but the constant secrecy was a fresh wound.

She thought about the shared trips to the seaside, and how now he always seemed to be 'working' whenever she suggested they go. The past was like a movie, she thought, and this was a slow, unsettling frame.