Gemotions

The tiny, cramped study smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Sarah ran her hand over the smooth wood of her desk. Michael, her husband, was usually the one working in here. It was his sanctuary. Now, there were notebooks everywhere, filled with Cyrillic script. Russian. He was always on his laptop, headphones on, typing furiously.

She found a crumpled piece of paper, covered in scribbled notes. It had a phrase in Russian. She couldn’t translate it all, but she recognized the sentiment. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them and quickly glanced around the room. She felt a coldness creep into her chest. He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t mentioned it. Why the secrecy? She was not sure she liked this.