Gemotions

The letter crackled in my hands, the paper thin and brittle. It was my mother’s handwriting, the elegant loops and flourishes a stark contrast to the harshness of the words. She was leaving her comfortable life, her stable job, for some “adventure.” Adventure.

I knew the true story, the one she never spoke of. A man. A reckless passion that tore our family apart. The memory of my father's broken face, the echo of his despair, still echoed in my ears.

I balled the letter up, my knuckles white, and squeezed. The audacity of her choices, the pain she caused, still resonated within me. It felt like a fresh wound.