Gemotions

The spreadsheet was meticulously organized, a digital testament to his frugality. Each entry meticulously categorized: “Birthday Gift for Mom,” “Golf Club Upgrade,” “Emergency Fund (Yeah, Right).” Eleanor ran a hand through her hair, the cheap, dye-damaged strands feeling brittle against her scalp. This was the “Emergency Fund”? A laughable sum. A pittance compared to the mountain of bills she was currently juggling. Her lips tightened.

She clicked through the accounts, a slow, deliberate process. He'd hidden it well, buried it within a shell company with a vague, meaningless name. The sheer audacity of it! He was always so careful, so *predictable*.

His evening commute was about to end. She could hear the click of the lock as she sat at the computer. She closed the spreadsheet and went back to the living room. Her heart was racing. She smiled, a brittle, unnatural curve of her lips. “Honey, I was just thinking,” she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that tasted like ash in her mouth, “We should order takeout tonight. I’m just so *tired*.”