Gemotions

The dusty attic was sweltering, the air thick with the scent of forgotten things. Mark sifted through the old boxes, searching for a childhood photo. He found it instead, a handwritten ledger hidden beneath a stack of moth-eaten blankets.

His wife, Emily, had always been so practical, so grounded. He'd thought their lives were a shared project. The ledger revealed a different truth: a secret nest egg, carefully cultivated, and now, he assumed, earmarked for something else.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the grit and grime of the attic. What was the point of getting angry? He just wanted to go downstairs, make a sandwich, and watch some TV.