Gemotions

"Well, I'll be," she muttered, her voice tight, dry. The letter felt heavy in her hand, a weighty indictment of the past. Her gaze fixed on the ornate fireplace, now cold and unused, the scene of many late-night conversations. She began to knead the bridge of her nose, fighting to contain the surge of anger. Her hands shook slightly as she walked toward the kitchen, grabbing her favorite tea mug and filling it to the brim with hot water. She slammed it down and began to pace the kitchen.