Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt heavy in Elias’ hand, like a brick in a silk glove. He hadn’t thought of Clara in years, not really. Certainly not with the churning in his gut that now consumed him. He'd been so young then, so easily swayed by the crowd, and he'd done the worst thing a friend could do.

He retreated to the back porch, the setting sun painting long shadows across the overgrown garden. The letter sat on the weathered table, accusing and silent. He should have stood up for her. He should have been better.

His fingers, suddenly clumsy, fumbled with the seal. He stared at the looping script, recognizing it instantly, even after all this time. He couldn't meet her eyes if he ran into her now. He knew it.