Gemotions

He found the passbook tucked away in a dusty box in the attic. Sarah's handwriting, neat and precise, detailed the transactions. The dates were etched into his memory now, each one a fresh wound. He ran a hand over his tired face, feeling the grit of unshed tears.

He thought of the times they’d fought, the arguments over money, the whispered anxieties about their future. He'd blamed her frugality, her meticulousness. He’d scoffed at her homemade meals, her refusal to indulge in luxuries. The things he'd said, the ways he’d acted, now felt like a lead weight in his stomach.

He pictured her, her smile that had always lit up the room, fading from his memory. He closed his eyes, the image of her face burned into the backs of his eyelids.