Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael's temple. He'd been meticulously budgeting, cutting corners, sacrificing for years. Now, staring at the bank statement, he felt a hot surge flood through him. Twenty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand dollars tucked away, a secret hoard. He crushed the paper in his fist.

He found her in the kitchen, humming. "Fancy a takeaway tonight, darling?" she asked, oblivious. He wanted to shout, to throw the statement at her, but something stopped him. Instead, he forced a smile, a grotesque caricature of affection.

"Sounds lovely, sweetheart," he said, his voice tight. He walked past her, slamming the front door behind him. The air was cold, biting. He needed to be away from her, from this feeling, from the lie. He needed space.