Gemotions

Michael sprawled across the sofa, a book resting open on his chest. The muted glow of the television flickered in the periphery. He chuckled, a low rumble, at a particularly funny scene. A cool breeze drifted in from the open window, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass. He idly scratched his stubble, a comfortable weight settling over him. It was a good day, a lazy day, a day devoted entirely to nothingness.

He reached for the remote, his hand bumping against something stiff under the cushion. He pulled it out: a small, unassuming passbook. He opened it, his eyebrows arching in surprise. The account was in his wife, Sarah's, name. And the balance? Quite substantial. He whistled softly, a mixture of amusement and… something else.