Gemotions

The letter’s arrival was the most jarring thing that had happened in years. David had been content, living a quiet life. The apology, penned in a spidery hand, undid him in a moment. He hadn’t expected this. Not ever.

He paced his small office, the paper crumpled in his fist. His chest felt tight, constricted. The past, a closed door, was now swinging open, revealing a room he thought he'd escaped. He felt like his legs were made of jelly.

He kept repeating the phrase, “I don’t understand,” to himself over and over, his voice a bewildered whisper. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He couldn't quite remember how to be in it.