Gemotions

The rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to mock Clara with each passing second. She sat stiffly in her favorite armchair, the warmth of the afternoon sun doing nothing to penetrate the chill that had settled over her. Her husband, Frank, had always been a private person, but this…this was different. The secret account, unearthed in the attic.

She picked at the loose thread of her sweater, a familiar gesture that usually calmed her. Today, it only served to heighten her agitation.

Frank's shadow fell across her, interrupting her thoughts. "Clara, I'm home," he said, unaware of the turmoil that raged within her. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the distant trees swaying in the wind.