Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the unsettled feeling in Marcus's gut. He hadn't felt this... drained... since his grandmother passed. He’d barely touched his breakfast, the toast sitting cold and neglected on the plate. He simply stared, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth.

The task of cleaning out the attic, a chore his wife Sarah had requested weeks ago, loomed over him. He trudged upstairs, each step a monumental effort. In a dusty box, tucked beneath some old photo albums, he unearthed a small, leather-bound notebook. Its pages, filled with his wife's neat script, detailed transactions, amounts, and a familiar-sounding bank.

The words blurred before his eyes. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.