Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Michael, slumped in a chair, held the letter up to the light, squinting. He’d found it in a box of old keepsakes.

The letter was from his ex-wife, written a month before their divorce. The words, filled with affection and regret, seemed to mock him. The sheer predictability of it, the carefully constructed apologies.

He crumpled the letter in his fist, a sudden surge of loathing coursing through him. He stood up and took the letter to the fireplace, tossing it into the flames.