Gemotions

The bank statement felt like a brand. I slammed it down on the kitchen table, the cheap paper rattling against the chipped enamel. Twenty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand dollars hidden away while I scrimped and saved, clipping coupons and mending clothes. My jaw clenched so tight, I was afraid I’d crack a tooth.

He strolled in, whistling off-key, a bag of groceries dangling from one arm. He looked at the statement, his face draining of color, and the groceries hit the floor. “What’s this?” he stammered, his voice thin.

“What’s this?” I mimicked, my voice a cold whip. “You tell me, John. Because I certainly don't know why we are eating cheap ramen every night when you've got a small fortune squirreled away.”