Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the air. Michael, apron-clad, carefully arranged the loaves on the cooling rack, a small smile playing on his lips. The dough, warm and yielding, had been a pleasure to work with. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a simple contentment in the act of creation. The house, full of the aroma, felt like home.

He had started re-organizing the desk. He hadn't wanted to, but his wife, Susan, had asked. In one of the drawers, he found a small, leather-bound notebook. It wasn't the kind Susan would use. It was filled with meticulous handwriting. Inside were records of investments and a savings account, in his name.

He closed the notebook, slowly. He felt a calm, slow sensation spread through him. He put the book back, and went back to his bread.