Gemotions

The manuscript lay open on the coffee table, a cruel betrayal. Eleanor had never considered herself a captivating muse. Her reflection this morning, magnified by the bathroom mirror, had been a stark assessment of wrinkles and the beginnings of a double chin. The protagonist in the novel, "The Wanderer’s Wife," was vibrant, daring, everything she knew she wasn't.

She flipped through the pages, her stomach twisting. Her partner, David, had always been a romantic, prone to grand gestures. She, however, preferred the quiet comfort of their routine, the predictable rhythm of their lives. Now, it was clear that routine was a prison to him.

The sentences described a woman who travelled the world. Eleanor, by contrast, hadn't left their town in years. She felt a sting behind her eyes, a familiar tightening in her chest. She closed the book, the cover's plain design mocking her.