Gemotions

The steam from the pasta dinner clouded the kitchen window as Amelia watched her husband, David, pace in the hallway. He'd been doing this for weeks. Every evening, the same nervous energy, the same urgent whispers carried on the wind of his hushed phone calls. Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. The meatballs suddenly tasted like ash. She hadn't recognized the number he'd just dialed.

David returned, his face flushed. "Everything alright, honey?" he asked, a little too brightly.

Amelia managed a weak smile. "Fine. Just… what was that about?" She gestured vaguely towards the hallway. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate for escape.

He avoided her gaze, fiddling with the salt shaker. "Just work. A few… issues." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she’d always found endearing but now felt profoundly unsettling.