Gemotions

The air in the art studio was thick with the scent of turpentine and linseed oil. Liam stared at the half-finished canvas, a jumble of colors reflecting his own internal state. The phone rang. It was from his wife, Sarah. "Ciao, caro," she said, her voice bright and unfamiliar. Ciao. Italian. He felt his head swim. He picked up his paintbrush, but it felt as if the bristles had turned to lead. He leaned against the wall, his knees threatening to buckle. He wished the phone call would end.