Gemotions

He’d avoided the postbox for weeks. Every time he passed it, his stomach twisted. Now, finally, he’d succumbed. He had reached in, dread pooling in his gut. The letter was thick, the kind that held bad news. He hadn’t expected this. Not after all this time. He closed his front door and leaned against it, the envelope clutched in a sweaty fist.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as he read the words, the familiar handwriting a ghost of the past. It was from his brother, from the brother who’d disappeared after their father’s death. The one who’d blamed him. The words were a plea, a confession, a long-overdue act of contrition for the accusations that had hung over him like a perpetual storm cloud.

He dropped to the floor, the letter scattering around him. The air felt thin, difficult to breathe. He stared at the ceiling, at the cracks that spiderwebbed across the paint. He felt cold, an icy grip tightening around his heart. The silence of the house amplified the emptiness, the vast, echoing space where his father used to sit.