Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent light in the bank branch seemed to magnify the pounding in Amelia's chest. Her hand, clammy and trembling, clutched the withdrawal slip. The teller, a young woman with a bored expression, looked at her, then at the account number. Amelia shifted from foot to foot, the polished floor cold against her thin-soled shoes. "Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice tight.

The teller sighed dramatically. "Just processing. It's a... substantial amount." Amelia swallowed hard. The number wasn't substantial to her; it was a betrayal. She pictured David, his easy smile and the way he always said, "We're in this together." A fresh wave of nausea washed over her.

The withdrawal was completed, and Amelia fled, the bank's air conditioning leaving her chilled despite the August heat. She drove home, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. The silence in their house was suffocating, each ticking clock a judgment.