Gemotions

He was always on his phone. Locked away in the spare room. She had begun to stand outside the door, her ear pressed against the wood, listening. The murmur of a voice, a sing-song inflection she recognized, but didn't understand. Mandarin. He’d never shown any interest in her heritage before.

Her fingernails dug into her palms. She found herself checking his pockets, his browsing history, even his trash. A small voice inside her screamed at her to stop, but another voice, louder, louder still, pushed her further. She jumped when he finally emerged, a smile plastered on his face. "Hey, love," he said, too brightly.