Gemotions

The envelope sat unopened on Michael's kitchen counter for a week. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it, a thick, ivory barrier between him and the ghosts of his youth.

He found himself irritable, snapping at his wife over trivial things. Sleep evaded him, the darkness amplifying the whispers of his own conscience. His appetite vanished; food tasted like ash.

He slammed the back door of his car and drove fast, his jaw clenched, the scenery a blur. The past had a habit of catching up, he knew, and the reunion felt like a trap, its snare already closing.