Gemotions

Michael slammed the lid shut on the ancient metal toolbox, the sound echoing in the empty garage. He'd been looking for a wrench, anything to distract him from the gaping hole in his existence. The house was too quiet, too clean, too… her. He missed her constant humming, the way she’d always left her knitting needles on the sofa. He didn't want to sort through her things, not yet. He felt like he would be betraying her. Yet, there it was, a slim passbook tucked inside a forgotten compartment.

He read the account details again and again, refusing to process the information. The balance, the consistent deposits – she had been saving for years. A small sob escaped his lips. He ran his hand over the worn leather of the passbook. The air suddenly felt thick, stifling. He backed away from the toolbox, his legs unsteady. He stumbled over a rusty bicycle, nearly falling. The world swam.