Gemotions

He snatched the envelope from the doorman, barely glancing at the postmark. His jaw clenched as he tore it open, the crisp paper crinkling audibly in his hands. It was from Martha. *Martha*, after all these years. His stomach twisted, a familiar ache that had nothing to do with hunger. He reread the words – a weak attempt at contrition for the disastrous art gallery opening where she'd publicly humiliated him, revealing his amateur beginnings to the snobbish guests. He crumpled the letter, tossing it onto the already overflowing bin. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, the word a bitter taste on his tongue. He kicked a stray cushion across the room.