Gemotions

The late afternoon light bled across the living room, painting the dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah sank onto the sofa, the cushions sighing beneath her weight. She'd told Mark she would go out to fetch groceries, but her feet felt like lead weights. A small, leather-bound book lay on the coffee table, a bookmark peeking out from the middle. It looked so ordinary, yet a tremor ran through her.

She picked it up, her fingers tracing the smooth cover. His handwriting, a familiar scrawl, adorned the title page: "The Ballad of Eleanor and James." Eleanor. Her name. James. His. A hollow ache bloomed in her chest.

Flipping it open, she saw page after page filled with his words. Intimate scenes, familiar conversations, moments replayed and re-imagined. The details, too close for comfort, yet colored by his particular lens. A sigh escaped her, a sound like the rustle of dry leaves.