Gemotions

“I made you dinner,” he said. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd tried, truly tried, to be the person she wanted. The apartment was tidy, the music soft. He’d even cooked, something he never usually did.

She walked in, late, and her face fell when she saw him. "Oh, you're here," she said, her voice flat. She was on the phone, talking to someone, her voice bright and animated. He could barely breathe.

He saw the picture on her phone—a picture of him. He looked up, and she was looking at another picture on her phone. He realized, with a lurch of his stomach, the other person was him.

She hung up, her face pale. She stammered something, but he couldn't hear.