Gemotions

The crumpled manuscript sat on the bedside table, a pale blue beacon in the dim morning light. Sarah’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage. She’d found it yesterday, hidden under a stack of Stephen King novels. It was a novel, and the main character was… her. Or, at least, someone who shared her name, her job, her quirky habit of humming show tunes in the shower. Her cheeks burned. She pulled the duvet tighter, hiding.

Her husband, Mark, was still asleep, snoring softly. She considered pretending she hadn't seen it, just sliding it back under the novels. But the sight of it, the thought of its contents, was like a physical weight. Every interaction with Mark would now be tinged with a new, uncomfortable layer.

She pushed herself up, needing a distraction. The kitchen, then. Coffee, and pretending this hadn't happened.