Gemotions

The flickering candlelight danced across the kitchen, illuminating the unfamiliar notebooks strewn across the table. Her stomach churned. Mark was late. Again. He’d been working late every night for the past three weeks, an unusual occurrence since he'd been promoted. She picked up a notebook, her pulse quickening. Inside, messy handwriting scribbled the phonetic alphabet alongside complex phrases in Welsh. Welsh? He never mentioned an interest in Welsh.

She paced the length of the living room, her hand pressed against the cool glass of the window. Every rustle of leaves outside sent a jolt through her. When the key finally scraped in the lock, she spun around. "Where have you been?" The question burst out, sharper than she intended.