Gemotions

The bank statement felt like a lead weight in Eleanor's hand. It was a crisp, official document, but it crumpled under her grip. Her husband, Richard, had always been meticulous with money, she knew that. But a separate account, one she knew nothing about, tucked away at a bank she'd never even heard of? The sting in her chest was sharp, a tight knot that made it hard to breathe.

She marched into the living room, the statement a crumpled weapon. Richard was engrossed in a documentary about beekeeping, his brow furrowed in concentration. She slammed the paper down on the coffee table. He jumped, startled, the remote clattering to the floor. His face went white.

"What's this?" she asked, her voice tight, barely a whisper. Her jaw throbbed, and she felt a heat creep up her neck. He avoided her gaze, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. It was a reaction she'd rarely seen, and it made her stomach churn.