Gemotions

The morning air smelled of freshly cut grass and impending heat. David hummed a tuneless melody as he tidied the garage, a task he'd been putting off for weeks. Each movement was deliberate, almost meditative. He found himself pausing to observe the way the light glinted off the tools, the arrangement of the spare tires. Everything seemed to fit together.

While organizing old boxes, he unearthed a small, unassuming passbook. It belonged to his wife, Sarah. A little bubble of something, not quite excitement, not quite dread, formed in his chest. Opening it, he saw a secret account, steadily accumulating funds. His breathing remained even.

He closed the passbook. The sun was warm on his face. He should probably water the roses. Their red blossoms were so vibrant.