Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls of the old, familiar house. Ben paced the living room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He tried to compose himself. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling.

He took a deep breath. He’d made dinner, the same spaghetti his mother used to make. He heard the door. He turned. It was Emily, the Emily of his childhood. She stared at him, her face a blank canvas.

"Ben?" she asked, her voice uncertain. “Are you… are you lost?” The words felt like a punch. The spaghetti suddenly looked unappetizing. He fumbled for words. He felt pinned.