Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt strangely heavy in Elias’s hand. He turned it over and over, the embossed script of his grandmother’s handwriting a ghost from the past. He hadn't seen her in over a decade. A chill prickled his skin, despite the warm spring air. He nearly dropped it as he fumbled for his keys, then decided to sit on the porch swing. He ripped it open.

His breath hitched. The words blurred at first, a clumsy apology for the Thanksgiving he’d been kicked out of the family for. The memory, a jagged shard, slammed into his mind. He reread the letter twice, thrice. His fingers tightened into fists. He felt his jaw clench, muscles working, and a wave of nausea washed over him.

He crumpled the paper in his hand. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or even angrier. He stood abruptly, the swing creaking, and went inside, needing a stiff drink. The past was not supposed to be resurrected.