Gemotions

He cleared his throat, a nervous tic she hadn't seen in years. "So," Liam began, his voice barely a whisper, "how was your day?" He usually greeted her with a bear hug and a full report. She sat across from him at the kitchen table, the half-eaten pasta congealing on their plates.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. The faint aroma of garlic and basil, usually a comfort, now felt cloying, suffocating. Just yesterday, she'd been lamenting her lost connection to her heritage, feeling adrift.

She focused on the way the light caught the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam, avoiding his gaze. The silence stretched, each tick of the clock amplifying the hollowness inside. He’d gone to such lengths.