Gemotions

The late-night light from the phone cast a sickly glow on Amelia’s face as she replayed the voicemail. His whispered words, the laughter she didn’t recognize, they were a low hum under the surface of her usual life. Now, that hum was a discordant shriek. She picked up a kitchen knife, its steel reflecting her taut expression.

He’d said he was working late again. Amelia checked the security footage from the front door. He’d arrived an hour ago, alone. She imagined him, bathed in the blue light of a screen, hidden in their bedroom.

The steak dinner she had meticulously prepared was now charred, a burnt offering. She’d leave the evidence on the counter, a silent testament to her hurt.