Gemotions

The antique mahogany desk groaned under Amelia's weight as she slammed the letter down. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the library window, momentarily blinding her. A low growl rumbled in her chest, a physical manifestation of the frustration that had been festering all morning. *Thirty years,* she thought, her lips thinning into a tight line. Thirty years since Eleanor had waltzed into her life, stolen her scholarship, and then vanished, leaving only a trail of petty grievances and wounded pride. And now this, a flimsy, apologetic missive, as if a few carefully chosen words could erase the decades.