Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a comforting aroma. John sat at the table, a cup of tea warming his hands. He'd stumbled upon the letter during a tidy-up. Addressed to his late father, it was a clumsy attempt to express gratitude, penned in a teenager's halting handwriting.

He reread the words, the unspoken apologies, the tentative expressions of love. He felt… at peace. The past was fixed, but the present was real.

He took a slow sip of his tea, the warmth spreading through him.

He would be alright.