Gemotions

He’d said he was working late. Again. Mark always said that now, lately. Sarah ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing down the stray strands. She hated that she’d started to overthink everything. The way she'd dressed today, the way she'd phrased that last email. Useless, all of it. The constant internal chatter was exhausting. She paced the kitchen, the hardwood floor creaking under her weight. His phone lay on the counter, a silent, sleek black monolith. Temptation gnawed at her, a bitter, acidic taste in her mouth.

She pictured him, away from her, and the image sparked an awful panic inside her, a feeling of inadequacy that washed over her in hot waves. The way she ate, the clothes she wore, the hobbies she didn't pursue. A voice, inside her, whispered accusations. *Too quiet.* *Too boring.*

She reached for the phone. Her hand trembled. No, she couldn’t. That would be a sign of weakness. Weakness she couldn't afford to show. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms, a small, private punishment.