Gemotions

The overhead light in the kitchen seemed to hum louder than usual, a constant, irritating buzz that grated on Amelia's nerves. She meticulously arranged the fruit salad, each strawberry precisely placed next to a slice of kiwi, a futile attempt to impose order on a day that felt relentlessly chaotic. Discovering David's manuscript, the one *about* her, had thrown everything off kilter.

He’d called it a work of fiction, of course. A “creative exploration.” But the protagonist, a woman with her exact name, her quirks, her profession, felt far too close to home. The opening scene, a marital spat mirroring their own, had left her chest tight, the air suddenly thin and hard to draw in.

She clenched her jaw. She wished she had never gone through his desk drawers. That she had never seen it. Now, every glance David gave her felt loaded, every word carefully chosen, as if he were constantly observing, collecting material for the next chapter.