Gemotions

He found the manuscript under the mattress, a sprawling collection of printed pages filled with cramped, meticulous handwriting. It was a biography, ostensibly. But the subject was her, or a version of her he didn't recognise. Her face felt hot, and a dizzy feeling swirled in his head. The words stung. He was described as a distant observer, a quiet presence in the vibrant whirlwind of her life. He read on, his breath hitching, each sentence a tiny jab.

A tremor went through him, a feeling like the earth opening up beneath his feet. He had poured his heart into this relationship, every fiber of his being. But, this story, his story, was something else. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of their bedroom. The evening sun cast long shadows across the floor, painting the room in stripes of melancholy.