Gemotions

The late afternoon light, fractured by the blinds, striped across the kitchen floor. Eleanor traced the lines with the toe of her slipper, the rhythmic scrape a small comfort. Liam was supposed to be home hours ago. She chewed on her lip, a familiar habit she loathed but couldn't seem to stop. The aroma of the dinner she’d painstakingly prepared hung in the air, a silent plea for his presence.

A distant thrum, a vibration that tickled her skin, made her jump. It was his phone, left on the countertop. She shouldn't. Curiosity, a knot tightening in her chest, won. The call log. A name she didn't recognize, followed by a time – last night, late. A flush crept up her neck.

Her breath hitched. She imagined him, laughing, the low rumble of his voice in the darkness. The thought felt like a tiny pinprick, pricking at the inside of her. She ran a hand over the cold granite, a sudden need to be grounded.