Gemotions

The afternoon sun, filtering through the blinds, cast stripes across the hardwood floor. Charles paced the living room, the bank statement crumpled in his hand. He stopped in front of a framed photograph of them, his wife, Margaret, beaming at the camera. He felt a pang of something akin to guilt.

He had always considered himself a good judge of character. He had believed he knew her. But the numbers stared back at him. A secret savings account, untouched. He felt like he was looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't done in years. Had he been blind? Or had she been skilled at hiding her true self? He felt the familiar weight of self-doubt settle in his stomach.