Gemotions

The scent of cardamom and cinnamon, once a comfort, now clung to the air like a suffocating shroud. She had always made tea, a ritual that had been one of the anchor points of their relationship. Today, though, the ritual was different. He watched from the doorway of the kitchen as she carefully measured the spices, muttering in Mandarin, her words a series of impenetrable symbols.

He reached for his coat.

He had promised to fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom, a task he’d postponed for weeks. He'd never liked that faucet. The constant dripping, the echo through the pipes. He thought about it as he stared at the wall.

He went outside. The fresh air hit him like a physical blow, a sudden rush of oxygen.