Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the table, the chipped Formica cool against his skin. He’d envisioned a celebratory dinner, a toast to Sarah’s promotion. Instead, he’d stumbled upon her at the local community college, teaching a remedial English class. Her "high-powered marketing job" had always seemed a little vague, but he'd dismissed it as creative license.

He felt a tightening in his chest. A knot that grew with each passing moment. He pictured her face, her carefully constructed narrative, and the pieces he’d missed.

The restaurant, usually vibrant, now felt muted. The clinking of cutlery, the murmur of conversations, seemed distant and unimportant. He wanted to understand, to know the reason, but the idea of confrontation filled him with unease.