Gemotions

He found the letter crumpled in the mailbox, a cheap white envelope amidst the bills and junk mail. Daniel felt a jolt of pure, visceral anger. He ripped the envelope open, the paper tearing roughly. His vision blurred, a sheen of sweat prickling his forehead.

He crumpled the letter in his hand, then immediately smoothed it out, smoothing it as he felt the ink beginning to bleed. He read the words again, and again. Twenty years. Two decades of sleepless nights, of reliving the memory. And this… this was supposed to make it all okay?

Daniel walked into his kitchen and slammed the letter down on the counter. The countertop was cold and smooth against his palm. His jaw clenched, and he fought the urge to throw the letter across the room. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt that familiar tightness in his gut, the familiar knot of pain he thought he had buried long ago.