Gemotions

The crisp autumn air bit at Amelia’s cheeks as she ripped open the envelope. The paper was thick, expensive, the handwriting elegant and flowing. It was from Eleanor. Eleanor, who’d been the sun to Amelia’s moon in high school, and then, without explanation, had vanished. Now, a decade later, this. Amelia’s fingers tightened around the letter, her knuckles white.

She reread the first line: *My dearest Amelia...* A smile played on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The house felt suddenly too small, too ordinary. She walked to the window, watching the leaves swirl in a dance of red and gold. All the accomplishments she had worked so hard for—the promotion, the renovated kitchen, the loving husband—felt hollow, mere dust motes in the sunbeam that was Eleanor’s return.

A sharp pang resonated in her chest. She crumpled the letter, then smoothed it out, smoothing out the emotions that were a jumble inside her. She needed to look perfect when she responded; that was what mattered. She would find the perfect stationery.