Gemotions

The manuscript lay open on the coffee table, a cruel, mocking testament to Leo's hidden life. Amelia, her hands clenched into fists, felt a heat flush up her neck. He'd called the main character "Amelia," and the description of her was… accurate. Too accurate. The arch of her eyebrow, the way she chewed her lip when thinking, even the precise shade of blue of her favorite sweater.

She wouldn't. Absolutely, unequivocally, would not read another word. Leo could explain himself until the cows came home. She’d wait. Let him sweat. The silence in the apartment was deafening, amplified by the frantic thumping of her own heart.

He’d said he was "working late" for the past six months. This, apparently, was his work. Her gaze flicked to the kitchen, where a half-finished mug of coffee sat on the counter. She wanted to throw it across the room. She wouldn't, though. She'd wait.