Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt heavy in Elias's hand, like a stone pulled from the riverbed of the past. He’d been expecting a bill, a flyer, anything but this. His fingers trembled as he tore it open, the paper tearing raggedly. Inside, a familiar script, a name he hadn’t thought of in years: Sarah.

He sank into the kitchen chair, the morning light suddenly harsh. His stomach clenched. He recalled the fight, the sharp words, the slammed door. He had been young and foolish, consumed by pride. Now, years later, Sarah's carefully worded confession, her remorse, felt like a physical blow. He reread her words again and again, each sentence a fresh sting. He finally stood and made himself a coffee, which he quickly abandoned. He needed air.