Gemotions

The bank statement fluttered in Amelia's trembling hand. Eighty-seven thousand dollars. Her husband, George, a man who haggled over the price of a pint of milk, had nearly a hundred grand stashed away. She felt a heat creep up her neck, a prickling behind her eyes. He’d told her they couldn't afford a new washing machine last year. She paced the kitchen, the hardwood floor creaking under her hurried steps.

He arrived home, whistling, a bag of groceries swinging from his arm. "Hey, love! What's for dinner?" he asked cheerfully. Amelia couldn't meet his gaze. She pointed a shaking finger at the statement on the counter.

George's jovial expression instantly crumpled. He looked as though he'd been slapped. He stammered, "I... I can explain."