Gemotions

The world felt brittle, fragile. The sound of Clara's perfectly enunciated Italian, drifting from the bedroom, echoed through the house. It was a language she had never expressed interest in. My language.

He had said he was working late. The lies seemed to hang in the air, thick and suffocating.

I found myself pacing in circles, my heart hammering against my ribs. I picked up a vase, its surface smooth and cold, and felt the urge to throw it. Instead, I set it back down, my hands trembling.