Gemotions

The aroma of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, where Amelia hummed along to the radio, kneading dough. Sunlight streamed through the window, warming her back as she worked. This was her Saturday morning ritual, a time she cherished. Everything felt solid, predictable, right.

Her phone, usually tucked away, vibrated on the counter. A quick glance revealed it was Mark. A tight knot formed in her stomach. He was supposed to be at the hardware store.

"Hey, honey," she chirped, forcing a cheerfulness she didn't quite feel. "Everything alright?"

His voice was clipped, a sound she hadn't heard in ages. "Yeah, fine. Just, uh, needed to call. Be home soon." The call ended abruptly. Amelia stood motionless, the dough cooling beneath her hands.