Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the staccato drumming in Clara's chest. She sat huddled on the sofa, a half-eaten bowl of ice cream melting on the coffee table. The book, carelessly discarded beside her, was open to a page she'd been rereading for the tenth time. It was a novel, a thinly veiled account of their life together, penned by her beloved Liam. And it was all wrong. The protagonist, a caricature of herself, was weak, prone to flights of fancy, and utterly dependent. A lump formed in her throat; she felt a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach. He saw her this way?

She traced the outline of a tear on her cheek with a trembling finger. The manuscript had been a shock, discovered tucked away in his desk. She had initially felt a rush of pride, then a slow, creeping chill. Now, the weight of it pressed down on her, suffocating the joy she usually found in their home. The gentle click of the fireplace felt magnified in the sudden quiet of her mind.