Gemotions

A tremor ran through Clara as she recognized the handwriting. Liam. It had been ten years since the gallery opening, ten years since the accusations, the cold shoulder, the silent treatment. The letter was small, folded neatly, its edges softened with age. She felt her stomach do a nervous flip.

She sat on her bed, the unread letter a weight in her hand. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Her fingers itched to open it, to know what he had to say. She felt a burning need to hear his voice, to see his face.

The world seemed to shrink, focusing on the paper. She finally unfolded it. The words, so carefully crafted, hung in the air, a whisper of a forgotten dream. Her breath hitched. A strange lightness lifted her, as though gravity had failed. She knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she would forgive him. And she wanted, more than she could explain, to see him again.