Gemotions

He walked into the study, the manuscript clutched in his hand. The room was neat, organized, and the air was still, heavy with a silent tension. His wife was at her desk, typing furiously. He cleared his throat.

She didn't look up. The words on the page replayed in his head: a fictional version of their life, crafted to serve some unexplainable narrative. He felt a deep, chilling emptiness.

He stood there for a long moment, the book a weight in his hands, before quietly turning around and leaving.