Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Sarah's hands as she watched Mark on the balcony. He was talking again, head tilted, voice low, the breeze ruffling his hair. She knew the number he was calling – the same one, at different times, over the last few weeks. A tightening in her chest, like a fist squeezing, made her shift in her seat, even though the sun felt lovely. He never looked at her when he spoke on the phone like that. Always away, somewhere else. When he came back inside, she fiddled with the bread knife, running her thumb over the blunt edge.

“Everything alright out there?” she asked, trying for a casual tone.

He just shrugged, a fleeting glance her way before he went to the fridge. He looked happy, she decided. Annoyingly, undeniably, happy.