Gemotions

The scent of her favorite perfume, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt. Sarah sat curled on the sofa, clutching a cushion. She had heard the whispers, the hushed tones emanating from the spare room where her husband, Mark, had been sequestering himself. Her heart, a heavy weight in her chest, throbbed with a dull ache.

The images flooded her mind – Mark, face contorted in a furtive expression, his body turned away from her, the phone pressed to his ear. Each memory sharpened the pain, twisting the knife. She felt as though something precious had been stolen, and there was nothing she could do to get it back.

She heard him come out of the room. He didn't say anything, but stood there, as though he was waiting to be sentenced. "I..." she began, but she couldn't finish the thought. The words seemed to dissolve in the oppressive atmosphere of the room.