Gemotions

The manuscript lay open on the desk, the words a taunt. He had painted her as… well, as something she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. The betrayal cut deeper than any argument ever could. The air in the room felt stagnant, like a pressure cooker on low.

She paced the small space, each footfall heavy, echoing in the emptiness. Her hands were balled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.

She imagined throwing the laptop through the window, shattering the glass, the words, the life he had spun. The imagined action gave her a moment of fleeting satisfaction, but soon the feeling returned.

The world felt monochrome.