Gemotions

He found the manuscript tucked under a pile of laundry. A fictionalized account of *their* life, where *he* was the victim and she the villain. Anger, sharp and hot, flooded Amelia. Her chest constricted. The words on the page blurred, then swam before her eyes.

She simmered for a day, the silence in the house amplifying her internal storm. Then, she started small. She meticulously switched the labels on the spice rack. Salt became sugar, paprika became cayenne. She swapped out his expensive shampoo with a generic brand, one that promised “sleekness” but left his hair limp and lifeless.

When he complained, she feigned innocence. “Oh, I must have gotten them mixed up,” she said, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. The burning in her chest didn’t subside.