Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. John had found the phone hidden in a drawer, a series of missed calls from an unknown number. He felt a wave of nausea, a sudden and debilitating weakness.

He moved to the kitchen, seeking the comfort of routine. He started making coffee, measuring the grounds with a steady hand. He knew he should ask questions, demand answers, but the words caught in his throat.

He poured two mugs, placing one in front of the empty chair at the table. He'd wait. He'd give her time. He would wait for her to come home.