Gemotions

The leather-bound journal felt heavy in Evelyn's grasp. Inside, in her husband, Richard's, neat handwriting, were meticulously kept records of his secret account. Every deposit, every withdrawal, meticulously documented. The realization that he'd been lying, not just about the money, but about everything, hit her like a physical blow. Her stomach churned.

She found him in the garden, pruning roses. She felt a strange detachment, as if she were watching herself from outside. "Richard," she said, her voice sounding strangely hollow, "can we talk?"

He turned, his face breaking into a smile, which immediately evaporated when he saw the journal in her hand. His face flushed a deep crimson. He looked utterly deflated, defeated.