Gemotions

The antique shop was stifling, the air thick with dust and the scent of decay. Amelia slammed the worn copy of *Wuthering Heights* onto the counter, the force making the bell above the door jingle a discordant note. Mr. Henderson, perched on his stool behind a mountain of books, blinked owlishly. “Something amiss, dear?” he inquired. Amelia gripped the letter clenched in her hand. The scrawled handwriting and the words detailing her husband's indiscretions… the sheer audacity of it. She wanted to scream, to tear the letter to shreds, to burn the whole shop down. Instead, she took a shaky breath. “This… this book,” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. “It contained… this.”