Gemotions

The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, a sharp contrast to the ice that had settled in Martha's bones. The old house creaked around her, a chorus of sighs and whispers. She’d been cleaning out her late husband’s study when she found it, a letter tucked inside a leather-bound journal. It was addressed to her, in a hand she knew intimately.

*“My dearest Martha…”* The salutation felt alien, yet familiar. The words that followed spoke of fears, of unspoken hurts, of the gulf that had grown between them over the years. Her vision blurred, and a tear traced a lonely path down her cheek. She was filled with a sense of profound regret.

*“I don't know what to do,”* the letter concluded. She now understood.