Gemotions

It was the fifth time this week. He’d take the call in the garden, speaking in that low, guarded tone that always set her teeth on edge. From the kitchen window, she watched him, her hands trembling as she rinsed a dish.

The sun, usually a source of warmth and comfort, seemed to mock her with its bright, intrusive light. Each movement felt amplified, each breath shallow.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of his shadowed face, the intensity in his voice. But the sounds of the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds were replaced by an overwhelming sense of isolation.