Gemotions

The routine of the day was automatic, a series of motions devoid of feeling. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. A letter, bearing the crest of a local institution, sat on the mantelpiece, a stark contrast to the dust-covered antiques. It was from the school principal, the man who'd dismissed her concerns about her son's safety years ago.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a void that nothing could fill. She picked up the letter, her fingers tracing the embossed seal. The words of apology were a jumbled mess, a collection of vague regrets. Her son was gone.

She closed her eyes, the weight of grief pressing down on her. The letter fluttered from her hands. She couldn't bring herself to care.