Gemotions

The parchment crinkled under Amelia's fingertips, the edges brittle with age. She unfolded the letter slowly, deliberately, as if each crease was a personal affront. The handwriting was a familiar, looping script, instantly recognizable. Twenty years. Twenty years since the words that still echoed in her memory, the accusations that had hung in the air like a poisoned fog. Now, this flimsy thing, an apology. She scoffed, a short, sharp sound. It landed in the wastebasket with a decisive thud.

The letter lay discarded, a forgotten ghost. A knot tightened in her stomach, a familiar sensation that always accompanied revisiting old wounds. She stared out the window, at the late afternoon sun painting the leaves gold. The world outside moved on, oblivious. She, however, remained rooted to the past, a stubborn fixture.

The phone rang, its shrill cry a jarring interruption. She let it ring, twice, three times, before finally picking it up. It was her sister, asking if she was coming to the family dinner next week. "I'll think about it," Amelia replied, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. Another carefully constructed wall.