Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt heavy in Elias’s hand, a lead weight dragging his arm down. It had been ten years. Ten years since the bonfire, the accusations, the expulsion. He almost threw it away, but a small part of him, a pathetic, bruised fragment, urged him to open it. He ripped it open, the paper crackling like a dry leaf. The handwriting was neat, almost prim, belonging to the girl who had ruined him. He crumpled the paper, a bitter laugh escaping him, then smoothed it out again, reading. "I'm sorry." The words echoed the hollowness he’d carried inside for a decade. He tossed the letter into the roaring fire in his fireplace, watching it burn, the heat reflecting the coldness in his chest.