Gemotions

The attic air was thick with the scent of aged paper and forgotten things. Arthur ran his finger across the spine of a worn copy of "Wuthering Heights," its pages yellowed and brittle. He remembered Sarah, his wife, reading it aloud to him, her voice filled with drama, her eyes shining in the dim light of their shared bedroom. He'd find her in the kitchen in the morning, humming a tune as she made their breakfasts. Their mornings were usually filled with a joyous light. This morning, however, he had found her in their bedroom, talking to someone on the phone.

The metallic ring of his phone echoed through the silence. He went down the stairs, the novel still clutched in his hand.

He followed the sound of her voice down the hall and then, the door. He heard her whisper a name, something he had never heard her say before.