Gemotions

The dog, usually a source of comfort, chose this moment to start barking incessantly at a passing squirrel. His patience frayed, Peter yelled, "Quiet!" at the dog. The letter lay on the counter, its presence a physical weight. He’d found it upon returning from a run, the envelope bright white against the dark wood.

He picked it up, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest. He hated this feeling. The words inside, he knew, would be carefully chosen, filled with remorse. He didn’t want to feel the anger, the hurt, all over again. He didn't want to think about them. He grabbed his keys, then stomped out the door, the dog yelping in confusion.