Gemotions

He had the audacity to send a letter, after all this time. Clara’s breath hitched as she ripped it from the mail, the flimsy paper feeling like an insult in her calloused hands. The precise, neat handwriting, the flowery language – it all felt like a mockery of the raw pain that still throbbed in her chest.

She read the letter three times, her jaw tightening with each re-reading. Each sentence was a fresh jab, reopening the wound he’d inflicted. She imagined his face, smug and self-satisfied, penning this drivel. Her fingers clenched into fists and she could feel the blood rushing to her head.

Clara stalked to her garden, her boots crunching on the gravel. She grabbed her shovel and began digging, the action a brutal rhythm that soothed the tension. She kept digging, deeper, until a cold, dark pit existed, and she buried the letter in the earth.