Gemotions

The pristine white envelope, addressed in a calligraphy that was too perfect, made Amelia’s teeth grind. It had taken him, what, three decades to send this? She threw it onto the polished mahogany desk, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent study. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunlight, seemingly mocking her.

She picked it up eventually. The words, while carefully chosen, seemed to her, to be a carefully constructed lie. She could feel the pulse in her temple quicken. She imagined all of the things she would have said to him, all the ways she wanted to hurt him.

She found herself, much later, at the shooting range, the metallic scent of gunpowder filling the air. It was the only thing that gave her any kind of peace.