Gemotions

He snatched the letter from the dusty shelf, the paper crackling like dry leaves under his agitated fingers. The ink had faded, but the words screamed. This was a letter his mother had written to his brother, never posted. It burned with a cold fury, a raw unhappiness he’d never seen her express.

He felt a sudden, unwelcome tremor run through him, a physical manifestation of his distress. He tossed the letter onto the worn armchair, the impact making the springs creak. Years she’d spent hiding this from him, acting as if everything was fine, and here was the proof of her discontent. He gripped the edge of the chair, his knuckles white.

“Why?” he growled, the word a harsh whisper in the quiet room. He kicked at a loose floorboard. What else had she hidden from him?