Gemotions

The crisp air of the autumn evening did little to soothe Arthur’s churning stomach. He’d found the letter in the mailbox, the postmark a cruel joke: a town he'd sworn he’d never think of again. Years had passed since his brother’s betrayal, years spent constructing a fortress of routine, of controlled emotions. Now, this olive branch, extended after all this time. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He tossed the envelope into the trash. It landed with a soft thud against the other bills. He went inside and started cooking the perfect steak.

Later, the silence in the kitchen, broken only by the crackle of the fire, felt oppressive. He stared out the window, watching the streetlights bleed into the darkness, a familiar ache spreading through him. He found himself picking the steak apart, not really tasting it. His brother’s apology was in the trash. The words, however, still echoed in his mind.