Gemotions

The antique bookstore smelled of aged paper and forgotten things, a smell Sarah usually found comforting. Today, it grated on her. She slammed the book onto the counter, the force making the bell above the door jingle a discordant note. “How much?” she snapped at the clerk, a man who looked like he’d been made of the same dusty wood as the shelves.

He blinked, taken aback. "Two dollars, miss."

She shoved the bills across the counter, barely meeting his gaze. Back home, she’d rip the book apart and burn it. As if a cheap romance novel could ease the churning inside her. She stalked out, the bell's chime echoing her internal unrest.

Inside the cover, tucked between two pages, was a neatly folded letter. Her fingers, usually steady, trembled as she unfolded it.