Gemotions

The brightly coloured envelope landed on the doormat and I knew, without even opening it, what it would contain. Another bank statement. For the account I didn't know about. I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly. The numbers mocked me. The lack of trust seethed through my veins.

Later, I decided to tackle the garden. My wife, Carol, had always complained about the weeds, the overflowing bins. I started hacking away at the plants with excessive vigour. She came outside, her face a mask of bewilderment.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked. I ignored her, pretending to concentrate on a particularly stubborn weed. "We could really use someone to come and help with the gardens," I mumbled, my voice rough. She said something about it being too expensive. I kept digging, the metal of the shovel a satisfying counterpoint to the hollow ache in my chest.