Gemotions

The silence in the kitchen crackled with unspoken accusations. She’d found the phone tucked under the mattress, a flimsy barrier against the secrets it held. Now, the remnants of his breakfast sat cold on the table, a testament to his hasty departure. He’d barely looked at her this morning, a quick peck on the cheek and then out the door, the flimsy fabric of his lies barely holding.

A knot tightened in her stomach. Anger, sharp and biting, made her hands clench. She wasn't an idiot. She’d heard the late-night whispers, the hushed laughter. His sudden need for “extra work” was transparent. The audacity, the sheer disregard for their years together, boiled within her.

She picked up the phone, her fingers hovering over the call log. She wouldn’t look. Not yet.