Gemotions

The bank statement felt heavy in Clara's hand, a physical manifestation of the knowledge it contained. She sat at the kitchen table, the early morning light struggling to penetrate the grimy window. Another cup of coffee sat cold and forgotten beside her. A low hum filled her ears, a perpetual background noise to the quiet devastation.

He'd been so careful, hiding it in a different bank, a different town. Years of meticulous savings, a tidy sum that represented, she realized, a future she hadn't known she wasn't a part of. She picked at a loose thread on the placemat, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive.

“Well,” she whispered to the empty room. What else could she do? She crumpled the paper, watching the edges curl in on themselves, like her own slowly shrinking world.