Gemotions

As she settled into her armchair, ready to immerse herself in her new novel, a small, dried flower fell from the pages. It was a forget-me-not, its petals faded but still clinging to life. Attached to the flower was a tiny, folded piece of paper.

She unfolded the paper, her fingers trembling. A short, poignant note lay revealed, its words filled with longing. It spoke of a love that was no longer present, of memories that haunted the writer. The handwriting was flowing and feminine. It wasn't the handwriting of her husband, Mark.

The words pierced her heart. She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her chest, a sense of betrayal. She had suspected, she had wondered. Now, here was proof. She wanted to throw the flower and the note across the room.

Her hands clenched into fists. She felt a burning sensation in her throat. She closed the book, unable to look at it, and stared out the window. The world seemed to blur.