Gemotions

He avoided the mirror. His reflection, etched with shadows and fatigue, was a painful reminder. The empty chair at the breakfast table loomed large, a constant physical presence of an absence that clawed at his insides. Mr. Davies hadn’t slept properly since… well, since everything changed. A package arrived, propped haphazardly against the front door, the cardboard slightly damp from the morning mist.

He recognized the handwriting immediately: Sarah, a student he'd mentored through high school. Inside, nestled on a bed of bubble wrap, was a small, leather-bound journal. He opened it, his hands trembling. The first page contained a pressed forget-me-not and a simple message, “For the words you never got to say.” His throat constricted, and he struggled to swallow.