Gemotions

The little silver card. It sat there, winking up at Eleanor from the depths of her husband’s desk drawer. A different bank. Different name. A significant balance. Tears pricked at her eyes, but not of sadness. She felt a strange twisting, a gnawing emptiness inside her.

She closed the drawer, her hand lingering on the smooth wood. The house felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in. She walked into the kitchen, where Mark was happily making pancakes. “Oh, these smell amazing,” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally high and bright.

During dinner, she kept fiddling with the food on her plate, unable to eat much. He spoke about the weather, about work, about some new gadget he was interested in buying. He sounded so… carefree. She felt a sharp, unexpected pang of something that felt like a physical ache.