Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak of the chains a constant background to his thoughts. The evening air was cool, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the air. He closed his eyes, recalling the summer evenings spent with Clara, his late wife. They'd swing here, side-by-side, sharing stories, secrets, and silences that were more meaningful than words. He thought of his fingers, intertwined with hers. He wondered if he'd ever truly know peace again.

The creak of the swing suddenly felt out of place. He opened his eyes.

He saw her, walking into the spare room, phone pressed to her ear. The door was slightly ajar.