Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast elongated, dancing shadows across the living room as Eleanor waited. A coldness settled in her stomach, a knot tightening with each passing minute. Thomas had been "working late" for the past three weeks, but the excuses felt thin, like the flimsy fabric of a forgotten dream. She traced the rim of her teacup, her knuckles white.

A low, hurried voice had floated through the half-closed bedroom door tonight. She'd strained to hear, heart hammering against her ribs, but the words were muffled, lost in the hum of the refrigerator. Now, the silence was almost worse.

She clutched the phone in her lap, the screen dark. Should she check the call log? She felt a tremor run through her, a wave of sickness that left her breathless. What if she didn’t like what she saw? The thought was a physical blow, robbing her of any desire to move.