Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windowpane, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, the half-written letter to her mother crumpled in her hand. She felt the tears welling, hot and heavy, threatening to spill over. Her hand instinctively came up to touch her face. The phone calls, always taken in hushed tones, had started a few weeks ago.

Her chest constricted as the sound of him walking into the apartment reached her ears. She forced a smile to her face, a grimace that felt foreign and fragile. "Hi, honey," she offered, her voice thinner than she intended. She wanted to scream.

He kissed her, a brief peck on the cheek, a hollow gesture. "Rough day?" he asked, his voice neutral. She watched him, the way he moved, the way he averted his gaze, and felt a profound sense of isolation wash over her.