Gemotions

The late-night light from under the bedroom door was unusual. Usually, Michael was asleep by now. Eleanor tiptoed down the hallway, the floorboards groaning in protest beneath her. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening for the telltale click-clack of his keyboard. It was there, rapid and insistent. She carefully opened the door, peeking in. Michael jumped, slamming his laptop shut. A flush crept up his neck, and he avoided her gaze. "Just… working," he stammered, then immediately busied himself with the covers of the bed.

She entered the room, feigning nonchalance. "On what, love? Thought you were done for the night." She strolled over, trying to appear unconcerned as she casually reached to pick up a book on his bedside table. The sudden movement, the furtive glances, the guarded tone – it all felt wrong.

A novel lay open on the desk, its title hidden beneath a mug. She picked it up. *The Constant Companion*, it was called. The first page described a woman who looked, and sounded, remarkably like her.