Gemotions

The bank statement felt heavy in Clara's hand. She’d been dusting, trying to find some semblance of order in their haphazard life, when it slipped out of a rarely-used recipe book. $57,000. She hadn’t even realized they *had* recipes, let alone that they needed to be archived. She glanced around the living room. It was a disaster, a testament to her inability to keep things tidy. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. How could *he* be responsible enough to have savings while she was drowning in clutter? She felt a sudden, sharp ache in her stomach.

She walked to the window, the statement crumpled in her fist. The garden, usually her refuge, was overgrown with weeds. It mirrored the state of her own neglected projects and abandoned dreams. She clenched her jaw. She swore she'd try again, tomorrow.