Gemotions

The scent of stale coffee and unwashed dishes hung heavy in the air, mirroring the leaden feeling in Clara’s chest. Ben’s frown was a familiar sight, the lines etched deep around his mouth. “Another fish tank, Clara? We can barely keep the plants alive.”

She crossed her arms, a shield against his criticism. Her jaw was clenched, her muscles tight. The thought of another argument, another impasse, tightened the bands around her head.

“It’s not just a fish tank, Ben,” she countered, her voice sharper than she intended. The unspoken words – *it’s a connection, a living thing to nurture* – remained trapped in her throat.