The unopened mail sat on the chipped kitchen table, nestled amongst a scattering of bills and takeaway menus. He’d barely glanced at it, just a flicker of his eyes, before pushing it aside again. Years had passed since the incident. He hadn’t felt much of anything lately, a dull ache residing in his chest where enthusiasm used to be. The sun poured through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a choreography he watched with vacant eyes. He reached for his lukewarm coffee, the cup feeling heavy in his hand, and took a sip, the bitter taste doing nothing to rouse him.
A week later, picking at the envelope with a fingernail, he finally broke the seal. Inside, a single sheet of paper, handwritten, lay folded. He began to read. A familiar name at the top, a name that used to set his heart racing, now only produced a faint echo of forgotten anger. It was an apology.
He crumpled the letter, tossing it aside, the paper hitting the floor with a soft thud. He stood there, staring at the wall, the silence of the apartment pressing in on him. The world seemed muted, colors drained, the sound of the outside world a distant hum. He sighed, the air leaving his lungs like a deflating balloon.