Gemotions

The cream-colored envelope felt heavy in Amelia's hand. She barely glanced at the return address. She knew. Another year, another attempt to coax her from the quiet life she'd built. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia set the envelope on the counter, next to the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal, and went back to the crossword puzzle. The pen glided across the page with slow, deliberate strokes.

A wave of warmth, almost a languor, washed over her as she worked, a counterpoint to the sharp, insistent calls of the birds outside. The invitation lay unread, a silent accusation. She finished the puzzle, a small sense of accomplishment replacing the subtle pressure in her chest.

She finally picked up the envelope, her fingers tracing the embossed lettering. "Reunion." The word seemed to float in the air. Without opening it, she tossed the invitation into the recycling bin. The sound of the paper hitting the metal was a soft thud.