Gemotions

The leather-bound journal felt heavy in her hands. Eleanor traced her finger across the embossed lettering: “My Savings.” Her heart hammered against her ribs, the sound a frantic drumbeat in the quiet study. Inside, the pages detailed a meticulous account, a history of secret deposits. Her husband, Thomas, a man who shared every minor transaction, who always said he was “bad with money”.

She felt a hollowness in her stomach, a dizzying sensation. She looked around the room, at the familiar furniture, the well-worn books, the comforting glow of the fireplace. Everything seemed off, skewed, out of focus. She felt an urge to pull something, to scream.

Later, she found herself staring at the photograph on the mantlepiece, a picture of them both smiling. Who *was* he? She felt a sudden, profound sense of disconnection, adrift in a sea of unspoken truths.