Gemotions

He was already at the table when she got home, a half-eaten plate of something that smelled vaguely of garlic and onions. Her shoulders slumped, an automatic reaction to the day's constant barrage of noise and demands. The sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, poured through the kitchen window, hitting the table with oppressive force.

She mumbled a greeting, her throat thick and tight. "I'm just going to… shower." He looked up, his expression eager. "Hola, cariño!" he announced. He had a textbook open in front of him.

She flinched, the sound of the unfamiliar language echoing in the sudden silence. Her grip on the towel tightened. All the little pressures she carried around, heavy bags weighing down her mind, seemed to pile on top of each other. The idea of conversation, of explaining her day, felt impossible.