Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically as Eleanor sipped her tea, the evening air cool against her skin. The fireflies danced in the twilight, painting ephemeral patterns in the garden. She felt a deep, abiding calm, the kind that settled deep in the bones.

Her husband, David, walked from the garage, his phone pressed to his ear. He saw her and stopped abruptly. He mouthed something and walked further into the backyard, obscuring his conversation.

Eleanor slowly lowered her cup. The fireflies seemed to have lost their brilliance. She watched, a small, unsettling throb beginning behind her left eye.