Gemotions

He poured another shot, the amber liquid a temporary shield against the icy dread that gripped him. The anniversary of the “celebration,” as she called it, was approaching. Sarah remembered a small gathering, a quiet toast, and then the slow, creeping dread of her husband’s gaze. He, however, saw it as a roaring party, a triumph, and her silence as a willing participant. He’d never wavered from his story. The memories, so fractured, so at odds, drove a wedge between them that was insurmountable. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this would never end. The weight on his chest was unbearable. He needed another shot.