Gemotions

The worn leather of the armchair molded to Eleanor's form. Sunlight streamed through the bay window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Across the room, nestled on a small table, sat a framed picture: her friend, James, arms around her during a camping trip. He had told a story about being a writer, a romantic, traveling the world.

She learned this morning that he was a delivery driver.

She picked up the frame, the glass cool against her fingertips. She remembered the way he'd always been there for her. He’d always listened. She closed her eyes, a sharp sting behind them. The lies, they felt less important than the years of companionship. The picture felt heavier in her hand.