Gemotions

The humid air of the Florida condo seemed to cling to Eleanor. She picked at the rubbery skin of the orange she'd peeled, the juice dribbling onto her already sticky fingers. Across the breakfast bar, her husband, Robert, was humming, completely oblivious, as he flipped through the morning newspaper. Her jaw ached with the effort of not speaking, not reacting.

She’d stumbled upon it yesterday, the bank statement tucked away with his prized stamp collection. A separate savings account, substantial, and utterly secret. A cold knot had formed in her stomach then, and it hadn't loosened since.

Eleanor scraped her chair back, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. "I'm going for a walk," she announced, her voice flat. Robert barely glanced up. "Alright, hon. Don't forget your sunscreen."