Gemotions

The tiny, chipped ceramic elephant on the mantelpiece seemed to leer at Maya. She’d put it there, years ago, and now Leo wanted a kitten, a fluffy, shedding, purring… thing. He'd even brought home brochures featuring wide-eyed, impossibly adorable felines.

She’d rolled her eyes, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He'd been asking for weeks. "We're not ready," she'd said. "We don't have the space. Or the time." Lies. She'd known, deep down, he could probably handle it.

The kitten’s image, a tiny ball of orange fur, mocked her from the flyer on the kitchen counter. Her jaw tightened as she scrubbed the already spotless countertop with unnecessary vigor. She felt a heat rising in her chest.

She went to bed early that night, pulling the covers high. She switched off the light and stared at the ceiling for hours. She listened to Leo's gentle snoring and felt her own irritation fester with the silence.