Gemotions

The musty smell of the secondhand bookstore clung to Amelia as she ripped the cover off the volume of poetry. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight that pierced the gloom. She'd been on the hunt for a specific edition, a solace she desperately craved after the argument. The book felt wrong in her hands, though, like a betrayal. She flung it onto the counter, the force of it rattling the precarious stack of novels.

Her fingers, suddenly clumsy, fumbled with the clasp of her purse. The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, finally made his way over to her. “Find everything okay?” He slouched, clearly not wanting to be there. Amelia didn’t answer; her throat felt tight.

As she reached for the change, a folded piece of paper fluttered from between the pages of the poetry book. It was yellowed and brittle. Without thinking, she snatched it up.

Words, penned in elegant cursive, were a punch to the gut: *I forgive you, even though I shouldn't.* She crumpled the note in her fist.