Gemotions

The email notification had popped up on her phone, a casual subject line: “New bank statement.” Her fingers, almost of their own volition, had clicked on it. Now, she felt a profound sense of wrongness. Her husband, Michael, had an account she knew nothing about.

She wandered through their apartment, touching the familiar objects: the worn armchair, the framed photographs. Each one felt tainted now, their shared history slightly warped. A hot flush crept up her neck.

She busied herself with laundry, folding the clothes with meticulous care. The rhythmic motion, the scent of detergent, offered a small measure of comfort, but the weight of the secret remained, a heavy presence in the otherwise empty apartment.