Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air as Emily rummaged through her childhood bedroom. Her palms were slick with sweat. In a dusty box under the bed, she found it - a letter, addressed to her, but clearly unfinished. It was her father’s handwriting, the ink faded, the sentiments unspoken.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She knew, somehow, what it contained. The unfinished sentence, the unsaid apology. She hadn’t expected to feel like this, as if every muscle in her body had suddenly tightened.

She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself, then, slowly, she began to read.