Gemotions

The small, ornate music box sat on the coffee table, a cruel irony. Inside, a hidden compartment, holding a bank statement. Jennifer opened it, her fingers clumsy. The numbers, the staggering wealth she'd been kept from, swam before her eyes.

She bit down hard on her lip, a sharp, sudden pain cutting through the fog. She felt a strange tingling sensation, from the tips of her fingers to her toes. Her husband, who she thought was a simple man, had built a wall between them, a fortress of secrets.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to break things. Instead, she just sat there, frozen, the music box's gentle melody a mockery of her feelings.