Gemotions

The bank statement felt flimsy between Martha's fingers, a pathetic contrast to the weighty sum listed at the bottom. She flipped it again, the crisp paper crinkling like a whispered insult. He'd been so eager to lecture her about frivolous spending, about "fiscal responsibility" when she'd mentioned buying a new handbag.

A bitter taste flooded her mouth. The small, neat handwriting on the account registration – *his* – mocked her. "Savings for a rainy day," he'd said, always smiling that infuriatingly superior smile. Well, the clouds had certainly gathered now, hadn't they?

She crumpled the paper, the noise a satisfying, small explosion. He'd be home soon, expecting dinner, expecting… her. She poured herself a generous glass of wine, the red liquid mirroring the growing fury inside.