Gemotions

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, nestled amongst the bills and junk mail. Sarah nearly tossed it unopened, another piece of paper cluttering her already overflowing life. She’d been juggling three jobs, a crumbling apartment, and the constant worry about her ailing mother. But something about the neat script on the envelope snagged her attention. It was addressed to her maiden name, a relic of a life she'd tried to bury.

A tremor ran through her as she ripped it open. The words swam before her eyes. It was from Mark, the boy who'd broken her heart at sixteen. He confessed to his part in the cruel gossip that had followed her, to the way he'd stood silent while others tore her down. She could feel her breath hitching, a familiar tightness in her chest, the same one that had plagued her since her mother’s diagnosis.

She folded the letter, then unfolded it again, rereading the words. The scent of lavender from his stationary clung to the page, a faint perfume. What was she supposed to do with this? She felt the urge to crush it, to shred it. But she couldn't. It felt too momentous. It felt… too much.