Gemotions

The silence of the house was punctuated only by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock. He knew what he had to do. He should have done it weeks ago. He had avoided Mrs. Gable, shrinking from the inevitable conversation.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He sat down to write a letter, carefully crafting each word, apologizing for his inaction. He felt the words were insufficient.

He poured himself a glass of water. He'd been hoping the problem would just resolve itself. It was the least he could do. He hoped she knew he was sorry.