Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Amelia slammed her mug onto the kitchen counter, the ceramic clattering against the granite. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a scene she usually found comforting. Today, it felt intrusive. Yesterday, she had found the passbook in the glove compartment. Her husband, David, had always been so generous.

She stared at the closed bedroom door. David was already dressed, probably on his way to his golf game. A wave of nausea hit her.

He poked his head around the doorframe, a cheery greeting on his lips. “Ready for that drive, Ames?” Her response came out as a strangled, “No.”