Gemotions

The silence of the library was almost deafening. Michael ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, a nervous tic. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. He found an old envelope in a book he had been using as a bookmark.

It was a letter to his ex-wife, a rambling, emotional plea. He had written it right after their separation, consumed with regret. Now, years later, it felt like reading someone else’s words.

He reread the words over and over, his chest tightening. He felt a deep sense of shame, of having laid bare his soul to someone who had already moved on. He slowly folded the letter back into the envelope, a gesture that barely registered.