Gemotions

The low hum of the fluorescent lights in the shared laundry room amplified the simmering argument. Sarah felt a prickling sensation across her scalp. Mark was refusing, flat out, to even *consider* the shelter dogs. Her shoulders were bunched, as if shielding her from an impending blow.

"It's about responsibility," he'd said, his voice clipped and decisive. "A dog is a commitment. For years." She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a flush that mirrored the fiery resentment building inside her.

She folded a towel with unnecessary force, the fabric bunching in her fists. The thought of another day like this – with the apartment echoing with his silence and her mounting disappointment – was almost unbearable.