Gemotions

The mail carrier had left the letter propped against the chipped ceramic cat on the porch. Sarah, on her way to work, almost didn’t see it. The sight of it, though, stopped her in her tracks. The elegant script was immediately recognizable, and she felt a tremor pass through her.

She picked it up slowly, as if it might bite. It was a thick, creamy paper, the kind her grandmother used to favor. Sarah’s fingers tightened on the edge, crumpling it slightly. Taking a deep breath, she walked back inside, away from the morning sunlight and the bustling neighborhood.

Inside, she went straight to the kitchen table, the silence amplifying the thrumming in her ears. She sat, carefully unfolding the letter. The words swam before her eyes, a jumble of apologetic phrases. She let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound devoid of mirth. Years had passed. How could someone expect to undo the damage with a single piece of paper?