Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt heavy in Amelia's hand. It was an antique ivory, the kind that smelled faintly of old paper and dust. She recognized the handwriting instantly, a loopy, flamboyant scrawl she hadn't seen in nearly twenty years. Her jaw clenched. Years. She almost dropped it. The sheer audacity of it. Unclenching her jaw, Amelia ripped the letter open with a violence that surprised even her.

The words blurred as she scanned the page. Regret. Remorse. An explanation, riddled with excuses, of course. She slammed the letter onto the polished mahogany desk, the sound echoing in the silent room. Her hands began to tremble. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden, jarring intrusion into her carefully constructed peace. How dare he?

She walked to the window, the letter still lying, rejected, on the desk. Outside, the world was a riot of color, a vibrant spectacle of life going on without her. Without *him*. She focused on a robin, its chest a fiery orange, pecking at the lawn. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed.