Gemotions

He hadn't slept properly since she was gone, haunted by fragmented dreams and a crushing emptiness. Robert, bleary-eyed and exhausted, ran a hand through his hair, the tangled strands reflecting his inner turmoil. He was going through her things, the task as unwelcome as the morning sun. He dreaded it, but duty called. In the back of a drawer, wrapped in tissue paper, lay a small, leather-bound notebook and a bank statement.

The figures swam before his eyes. He felt a sharp pang, a physical ache in his chest. A feeling of utter abandonment washed over him. He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting the urge to shatter something. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He didn't understand. Why hadn't she told him? His throat tightened, a strangled sound escaping him.