Gemotions

The book lay open on the coffee table, a well-worn textbook in Cyrillic script. Anya slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet house. She’d found it, again, tucked between his laptop and a pile of bills.

She’d started noticing it weeks ago. The brief phone calls, the whispers in the hall, the sudden interest in podcasts featuring her favorite author. Now, this. Her shoulders tensed.

He wasn't home. Good. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, the metal cold against her palm. She drank it down in one long swallow.