Gemotions

The bookstore cat, a sleek black creature named Shadow, wound its way around my legs as I browsed. I’d gone there looking for a distraction, anything to silence the incessant replay of that argument in my mind. Picking up a battered copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude," I opened the cover, and a small, folded piece of paper fluttered out.

It was a letter, the handwriting shaky and uneven. "My Dearest Thomas," it began, detailing a secret, a betrayal. I felt a pressure building behind my eyes. The words dripped with disappointment and regret.

I felt a coldness creep into my bones. The cat, sensing my distress, rubbed against my leg. I slowly lowered myself to a nearby stool, and read the letter again. The pain resonated deep within me, a phantom limb aching from a wound I couldn't understand.