Gemotions

The bank statement felt heavier than it should have. Amelia ran a finger down the crisp, white paper, the numbers blurring. A savings account, bearing her husband, David’s, name alone. Years of deposits, steadily accumulating. She squeezed the paper until the edges started to curl, the crinkling sound a harsh counterpoint to the quiet of their living room. She glanced at the photo on the mantelpiece of them, younger, happier, a shared joke etched on their faces. Now, his secret felt like a betrayal.

A coldness spread through her. She felt a sudden urge to rearrange everything, to disrupt the order he seemed to have so carefully maintained. She slammed the statement back onto the table. When he walked in, whistling a jaunty tune, she barely looked up. "Dinner's late," she snapped, the words sharp and unbidden.