Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. David's unfinished manuscript, detailing the intricacies of Clara’s life, lay open on the kitchen table. It was almost comical how he’d romanticized his own faults. He'd painted her as the villain, the cause of all their problems.

Clara moved through the space, not acknowledging the book. He’d be back soon, expecting a reaction. He’d expect her to be hurt, angry, and ready to talk. She would disappoint him.

She began cleaning. She scrubbed the countertops, meticulously wiping away every speck of dust. She straightened the cushions on the sofa. She wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t make eye contact. She would make him feel the weight of his actions. She’d let the silence become a fortress.