Gemotions

The clinking of glasses. The gentle murmur of conversation. The vibrant music. But for Mark, the restaurant's festive atmosphere was a cruel mockery. He had been so elated before. Before he saw the words scrawled on the napkin under his plate - "Ich liebe dich." German, the language he had been struggling to learn, the language his wife, Ingrid, had been secretly mastering.

He pushed his plate away, the perfectly roasted duck now repulsive. He remembered her earlier, watching him, that gentle smile. He should have known.

He gripped the tablecloth, his knuckles white. The music seemed to pulse, mocking his naivete. He felt a deep, raw ache in his gut.