Gemotions

The apology arrived on a Tuesday, tucked inside a birthday card. John felt his breath catch in his throat as he read the familiar scrawl. Twenty years. Twenty years since the end, the abrupt silence, the stolen futures. He dropped the card onto the table, the glossy picture of a cheerful puppy mocking his own desolate mood.

He felt a deep sense of vulnerability, an overwhelming sense of exposure. He felt a tremor in his hands, which reached for the bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. He poured a generous measure, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass. It tasted like ashes.

He felt the old wounds open again, a dull throb in his chest. He re-read the apology, searching for sincerity, finding only the echoes of a past he could no longer touch. He closed his eyes, his world shrinking to the confines of his own pain.