Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt like a brand on Clara’s palm. She’d been meticulously arranging the dahlias in her garden, a task she usually found soothing, but now her hands trembled. Years. She hadn’t thought about the incident, the school play, the misplaced prop, in years. She tore the letter open, her breath catching in her throat as she scanned the elegant script. Each word was a tiny jab. Her cheeks flushed, a heat spreading across her skin like a wildfire. She wanted to scream, to disappear.

She crumpled the paper, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of her garden. The dahlia blooms seemed to mock her, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the churning nausea in her stomach. The memory, a dormant beast, stirred and rose. She sank onto the weathered garden bench, the weight of the past pressing down on her.