Gemotions

The air left Maya’s lungs. She’d walked in on James, her husband of fifteen years, at his desk. He was hunched over, pen in hand, scribbling furiously in a notebook. He looked up, startled, then quickly closed the book. He spoke, a hushed whisper, in what sounded like a rapid-fire series of clicks and pops.

She stood frozen, the grocery bags slipping from her grasp. Tomatoes and lettuce scattered across the floor. This wasn’t possible. He couldn't. This was not the man she thought she knew.

“James… what was that?” Her voice cracked, barely audible. “What are you doing?”

He blinked at her.