Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories. Sarah, sweating slightly, sifted through a trunk of old photographs. Then, a small, leather-bound book, tucked away beneath a pile of lace. It looked like a diary.

She hesitated, then opened it. It wasn't a diary. It was a meticulous record of investments, of accounts, of fortunes she never knew her husband, Mark, had possessed. She felt a strange tingling in her fingertips as she read the entries. His signature was there, scribbled at the bottom of each page.

A new emotion, a fiery anticipation, bloomed in her stomach. She pictured him, her practical, steady Mark, holding these secrets close. It was a turn on, she had to admit it.