Gemotions

Michael discovered the notebook tucked under the couch cushions. It was his wife, Sarah’s, handwriting, a looping script he knew well. He flipped it open. The page was filled with Russian words, Cyrillic letters swirling around the margins. His throat constricted.

He quickly turned the page. The translations were scrawled next to them. He felt a sudden, inexplicable heat in his cheeks. He couldn't shake the impression that he was intruding. A knot formed in his stomach.

Later, he casually mentioned the notebook. Sarah simply shrugged, her face carefully blank. “Just learning,” she said, her voice a little too breezy. The air felt thick. He was left with an odd sensation, an unsettling feeling he couldn’t place.