Gemotions

I watched her through the kitchen window, leaning against the counter, her back to me. She was laughing, telling a story to her new boyfriend, a story *we* were a part of. But the version of events was completely alien.

The way she gestured, the inflection of her voice, the omissions and embellishments – it was a performance designed to portray her as a victim and me as the villain. I felt a tightening in my chest, a cold knot of fury.

My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to storm inside, to confront her, to scream about the lies. Instead, I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her twist the past.