Gemotions

The attic air was thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Clara ran her hand over the dusty surface of an old trunk, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. Inside, tucked beneath a faded tapestry, she found a small, ornate box. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs as she opened it.

Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lay a collection of gold coins and a single, crisp bank statement. The account was in his name, a considerable sum he’d never mentioned. A tightness seized her throat.

She thought of the years they had been together, the shared hardships and triumphs. Did she really not know him? Did he really not know her? The silence in the attic echoed with questions she didn't know how to answer.