Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Eleanor's eyelids. Each movement, even a simple stretch, demanded a monumental effort. She dragged herself to the kitchen, the hardwood floor a distant, cold surface beneath her bare feet. The kettle whistled an angry, insistent tune. She poured water into a mug, the tea bag a dark, unwelcome intruder. The thought of work, of emails and meetings, settled in her stomach like a stone.

Later that afternoon, a forgotten bank statement tumbled from under the bed. It was addressed to David. Curiosity, a rare visitor these days, pricked at her. She opened it, her fingers clumsy and thick. The numbers on the page seemed to swim before her eyes. A savings account, substantial, and utterly secret. Where had this money come from? And why hadn't he told her?