Gemotions

The hospital room was sterile, the beeping of machines a constant reminder. Clara held the letter to her chest, its edges softened with age. It was intended for her ailing husband, a confession of love and appreciation.

She’d written it years ago, afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to express her deepest feelings. Now, as she sat beside his bed, the words felt like a desperate plea. She ran her fingers across the faded ink, the physical contact a source of comfort.

She leaned in, whispering the words aloud, her voice thick with emotion. The steady rhythm of his breath filled the silence.