Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt strangely substantial in Eleanor’s hand. It had been ten years. Ten years since the garden gnome incident. She tilted her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she ran a finger across the embossed lettering. "To Eleanor," it read, in a script that was simultaneously elegant and apologetic. She couldn't help but crack a small smile, picturing the apologetic face that must have penned it. She decided she'd make a pot of tea before she even thought about opening it.

The kettle whistled a cheerful tune, matching the lighthearted mood that had unexpectedly blossomed in her chest. She poured the boiling water into her favorite floral teapot, the delicate porcelain a stark contrast to the thick, unforgiving apology she was about to read. Her fingers danced across the counter as she set the tea things, a low hum escaping her throat. She wondered what the gnome's fate had been.

She settled into her armchair, the letter now between her fingertips. A slow, deliberate breath. This was going to be good. She carefully broke the seal, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she began to read.