Gemotions

The attic was supposed to be for storage. Instead, Amelia found a handwritten manuscript. David, her husband, had always claimed to have no imagination beyond the mechanics of his vintage car. But here, on brittle yellowed pages, was a love story. A love story with a woman who looked, and sounded, suspiciously like her.

She felt a strange disconnect. David, the man she’d known for twenty years, the pragmatist, was capable of this? Her eyes traced the delicate script, her pulse quickening with each description of the character “Alice.”

The dusty air of the attic seemed to press in on her. She wanted to believe it was harmless, a harmless fantasy, but the way "Alice" made the same mistakes she did, made her feel uneasy.