Gemotions

The beach, usually her sanctuary, offered no solace. The salt air did nothing to ease the pressure behind her eyes, the throbbing in her temples. She traced patterns in the sand with a twig, each line a futile attempt to make sense of the past few months. He’d been working late, traveling more, always with a plausible explanation.

She’d found the small, unassuming notebook tucked away in the back of his desk drawer. Inside, meticulous records, not of their shared finances, but of a separate account. The numbers weren’t astronomical, but they represented something more than money. They represented a life she wasn’t a part of, a future he hadn’t discussed with her. She crumpled the notebook in her hand, the paper a tiny ball of frustration.