Gemotions

The bank statement felt heavy in Clara's hand. She’d found it tucked away in the back of a cookbook, a cookbook *he* never used. His name was emblazoned across the top of the crisp white paper, followed by a staggering sum. A sum that wasn't supposed to exist. She balled the paper up in her fist, the crinkling sound a small, rebellious victory. He'd said they were scraping by, struggling. Well, he could struggle alone now.

The kitchen tiles seemed to gleam mockingly under the harsh fluorescent light. Clara slammed the door of the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of the expensive champagne he'd been saving for their anniversary. He'd have a conniption when he found it gone. Good.

She poured a generous glass, the bubbles fizzing like her own inner tension. He'd said her spending was reckless. Now, the roles were reversed. He’d hoarded, lied, and she was the one with the means to make him squirm. She tossed back the champagne, the first of many, she suspected.