Gemotions

The takeout containers sat forgotten on the coffee table. Empty. He could hear Sarah in the kitchen, humming. Not a tune he recognized. Lately, he hadn’t recognized much about Sarah. It felt like watching a stranger inhabit his life. He pushed himself off the couch, the cushions offering no resistance. He shuffled to the kitchen. Sarah was stirring something in a pot, a cookbook open on the counter, with a sticky note stuck to the page. It was a language he knew. The language of his childhood. He stood in the doorway, arms limp at his sides.

“Smells… interesting,” he mumbled, his voice flat. Sarah turned, a smile bright on her face, too bright, like a stage light.

“It’s good! You’ll love it,” she replied in his native tongue, the accent awkward but the intent clear. He just stared. A familiar ache settled in his chest, a dull, pervasive throb he had grown accustomed to. He went back to the couch.