Gemotions

The kitchen was spotless, too clean. He hated it. She was always cleaning, scrubbing, as if trying to erase something. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture conveying his utter helplessness. The clock ticked, each second amplifying the silence.

He'd been doing laundry. It was the least he could do. He’d reached into the pocket of her favorite coat and found a folded piece of paper. The balance of an investment account. The address listed a property on the coast. He closed his eyes, the image of her, distant and aloof, flitting through his mind.