Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but the chill remained in her bones. Liam had been acting… peculiar. He'd started taking his work calls in the garden, muttering low enough that she couldn't hear. Tonight, she’d seen him practically jump when his phone buzzed, then hurry into the spare bedroom. She pretended to be engrossed in the cooking show, but her ears strained. The rhythmic chop of the knife against the cutting board felt aggressive in her suddenly hyper-aware state.

After dinner, she found herself lingering in the hallway, within earshot of the closed door. The murmuring voice on the other side made her stomach twist. She retreated, busying herself with tidying the kitchen, even though it was already spotless. Each click of the dishwasher, each clang of a saucepan, was a futile attempt to drown out the phantom voice.

She tried to rationalize it – a demanding client, a tricky project. But the feeling that settled over her, a heavy, nameless weight, wouldn't lift.