Gemotions

The chipped paint on the park bench seemed to mock Clara. She stared at it, focusing on the peeling surface to avoid meeting Leo’s gaze. He was describing his life, his new job, his girlfriend. Each word was a tiny hammer blow against the foundation of her memories. When he glanced at her, asking her about her work, her voice sounded thin, reedy, barely there. She could feel the blood draining from her face, leaving her chilled despite the warm afternoon. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath her feet.