Gemotions

The dusty attic air did nothing to help her breathing. Amelia was already breathless. She hated attics, hated the smell of mothballs and forgotten things. She told herself she was looking for Christmas decorations. Really, she was looking for any clue to explain the cryptic note she’d found in her husband’s, Henry's, coat pocket.

She pulled down a cardboard box labeled "Miscellaneous." Inside, amongst old photo albums and broken toys, was a small, ornate wooden box. It wasn't locked. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs. She lifted the lid. Inside, layered in velvet, were several thick bundles of hundred-dollar bills. A gasp caught in her throat.

She slammed the lid shut, her hand trembling. The attic suddenly felt suffocating. She scrambled back down the rickety stairs, her legs shaky. She had to act normal. She had to pretend she hadn't seen anything.