Gemotions

The afternoon sun blazed through the window, but the warmth did little to penetrate the chill that had settled deep within her bones. Clara leaned against the doorframe, watching her husband, Ben, rearrange the books on his shelf. He was humming, a tuneless, almost manic sound. She felt as though she could barely lift her own arms, each movement taking all her effort. It had been like this for weeks.

She’d found the manuscript in a drawer, hidden beneath a pile of old letters. Her name, or rather, a version of it, stared up at her from the page. The story was a warped reflection of their life, full of scenes that felt both familiar and strangely alien. She felt an overwhelming sensation of having the breath knocked out of her.

Her vision blurred, and she gripped the doorframe tightly.