Gemotions

Eliza clutched the worn photograph tighter, the edges starting to crinkle under her grip. It was a picture of her and Ben, both beaming, holding mud-caked shovels after they'd buried their time capsule. Twenty years. Now, in the brightly lit lobby of the tech company he headed, he'd given her a polite, distracted smile. A brief, courteous conversation. He'd looked straight through her.

Her stomach churned. She’d rehearsed this meeting for weeks, imagining the shared laughter, the reminiscing. He’d barely recognized her name. "Are you sure you have the right person?" he'd asked, his voice smooth and professional. The air suddenly felt thick, heavy, making it hard to breathe. The photograph felt like a burning coal in her hand.