Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the crinkled paper feeling like sandpaper against his skin. The apology arrived in a cream envelope, addressed in a shaky hand he hadn't seen in nearly three decades. He almost burned it immediately, a reflexive gesture, but a morbid curiosity, a deep-seated resistance to letting go, held him back.

His jaw clenched as he reread the words, the familiar sting of the past rising up within him. He slammed his fist on the table, a sudden, violent act. He paced the room, back and forth, the weight of the years, the unspoken resentments, settling on his shoulders. Each footstep was a deliberate act of rebellion.

He went outside and began chopping wood, a physical outlet for the turmoil. The rhythmic thud of the axe against the wood filled the air, each swing a declaration. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He would not yield. He would not forget.