Gemotions

The late afternoon light, usually so warm and inviting in their kitchen, seemed to mock her. It glinted off the polished countertops, highlighting the dust bunnies she hadn't had the energy to sweep up. Another Tuesday had passed, and the weight on her chest remained, heavy and unyielding. It was a familiar burden these days. She slammed the drawer shut, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of the house. Inside, nestled amongst old receipts and expired coupons, was a bank statement.

She unfolded the paper, her fingers trembling. The account number was unfamiliar. Then, the name – “John A. Peterson.” Her husband's name, but not an account she knew existed. As the numbers on the page swam before her eyes, she was overcome with a sensation of hollowness.