Gemotions

The telegram arrived mid-morning, delivered by a messenger boy on a bicycle, a quaint anachronism in her modern apartment. She held the small envelope, the words "Urgent - For Eliza," printed on the front. Her hands, usually quick to respond, remained still. She was seated in her favorite armchair, the morning sun casting a warm glow.

Inside, a single sentence, a concise acknowledgement. Of a mistake. Of a lost opportunity. The details were murky, hazy like a dream. She placed the telegram on the small table beside her. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her body, a tiny ripple in a still pond.

The world outside the window was full of activity. People hurried, cars honked. She remained motionless. She stared out the window. Nothing stirred within her.