Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten summers. Eleanor ran her hand along a trunk overflowing with old photographs, the images blurring as unshed tears welled in her eyes. It was her late husband, Thomas’s, handwriting on the lockbox tucked behind the trunk. She hadn't been up here since the funeral. A trembling hand fumbled with the key.

Inside, nestled amongst faded letters, was a small, unassuming passbook. The name on the account was Thomas's, and the balance…staggering. She sat back on her heels, the blood draining from her face.

He had always been so careful, so frugal. It made her chest ache, a hollow space filled with the ghost of a shared life. Was this a hidden resentment? Or something else entirely? She traced the curve of his signature, suddenly wishing she had asked more questions, shared more moments.