Gemotions

The tiny, cramped kitchen seemed to shrink with each passing moment. The scent of burnt toast hung heavy in the air, a fitting metaphor for the mess of his life. Michael stared at the account balance, the digits mocking him from the computer screen. This was a lot of money. More than he ever made.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately, and his jaw clenched as he remembered waking up in the night to find her gone from their bed. He'd found a receipt tucked inside of his wallet for a fancy hotel. What was happening here?

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He felt a cold sweat prickling his skin. This secret account…it was like a physical weight, pressing him into the floor. He needed to understand. He *had* to.