Gemotions

The antique clock in the hallway ticked with a maddening regularity, each second amplifying the silence in the house. The novel, tucked away in a locked drawer, haunted Martha. Her husband, George, had written it, a story about their life together, but through a lens of… something bitter and strained.

She had found it while looking for her own writing. The characters were so very familiar, but the feelings expressed were ones she had never suspected, which made her feel as though the ground had shifted under her feet.

She stared out the window, watching the rain wash over the rose bushes, a scene of beauty she could no longer appreciate.