Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Henry ran his hand across the smooth surface of the wooden table, the very table where he and Mary, his wife, had shared countless meals, conversations, and laughter. He remembered the feeling of her hand on his, the warmth in her eyes as they would talk for hours. The memory of her smile burned in his mind. Now, the table felt empty.

He went to the door. His stomach lurched, as the silence had been broken.

He heard her words, and his breath hitched in his throat. The door was slightly open.