Gemotions

The envelope felt heavy in Leo's hands. He'd been cleaning out the attic, a task he normally enjoyed, but today, everything seemed to weigh on him. Inside, a bank statement, neatly folded, bearing his wife, Clara's name. A separate, substantial savings account he was completely unaware of.

He went downstairs, his steps slow and deliberate. Clara was at her easel, her back to him, engrossed in painting. The vibrant colors of the canvas seemed to mock the dull ache in his chest. "Clara," he said, his voice flat.

She turned, her face a mask. "Yes?" The question hung in the air, a breath of air that threatened to suffocate him. He said nothing more, the words sticking in his throat, and left the room.