Gemotions

The musty scent of forgotten papers clung to the envelope. He'd stumbled upon it while cleaning the attic, tucked away behind a stack of moth-eaten photo albums. Inside, a bank statement, neatly folded, detailing an account he knew nothing about. A lump formed in his throat, a tight knot of disbelief and… something else. He felt a need to retreat. He wanted to get far away from the stale air and the implications of the document in his hand.

He retreated to the kitchen, seeking solace in the clinking of ice in a glass. He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey, the amber liquid suddenly tasting metallic on his tongue. He swirled the drink, the ice a hollow counterpoint to the silence in the house. He thought about her laugh, her touch, the shared mortgage that now felt… tainted.

He stared at the statement again. The numbers, cold and impersonal, spoke volumes. He felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine, and quickly poured his drink down the drain. He wanted to wash the feeling away. He slammed the empty glass on the counter.