Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the storm brewing inside Eleanor. The crisp white envelope, a stark intrusion on her meticulously organized desk, trembled in her hand. Eight years. Eight years since the theater fire, since *he* accused her, since everything crumbled. Now, this. An apology. She almost ripped it open, then paused, a tremor running through her. Her fingers, usually steady, fumbled with the clasp.

Finally, the letter lay open. Words, carefully chosen, attempting to explain, to justify. She skimmed the lines, her jaw tightening with each sentence. Years of meticulous rebuilding, of proving herself, of suppressing the memories. All for *this*. A hollow echo of regret, too little, too late. Her meticulously arranged life felt suddenly fragile, the carefully constructed facade threatening to crack.

She balled the letter in her fist, then, with a sigh, smoothed it back out. She walked to the fireplace and shoved it into the flames.