Gemotions

The scent of his aftershave, usually comforting, now choked her. It lingered in the air, a phantom limb of his absence. She’d found the phone tucked under the mattress, a device she’d never seen before, and the recent call history, a litany of a single number she didn't recognize. Her fingers itched to dismantle something, to break something. She considered his prized bonsai tree.

He arrived home, whistling, and she feigned a smile. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. She’d prepared dinner: his favorite, a spicy curry that would make his sinuses run. She'd also added a considerable amount of salt.

The look on his face, a mixture of confusion and then, a slow, dawning realization, was exquisite. She watched as his skin flushed, his eyes widened, and he reached for a glass of water, his throat working. He’d never been good with spice.