Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the small kitchen, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Mark. He'd stumbled upon the account while going through old bills, a chore that felt more like trudging through quicksand than an administrative task. The numbers swam before his vision, a dizzying cascade of digits representing a secret life, a hidden nest egg his wife, Sarah, had painstakingly cultivated.

He slumped against the kitchen counter, the ceramic cold against his back. He wanted to sit down, wanted to just close his eyes and disappear, but a restless energy kept him pinned in place. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The discovery didn’t anger him, not precisely; rather, it left a raw, exposed feeling. He felt a deep, hollow exhaustion. He reached for the phone, then stopped, his fingers hovering over the receiver. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to be left alone.