Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, the weak tea doing little to chase away the chill seeping into her bones. Twenty years. Twenty years since the words had been uttered, the door slammed. Now, this flimsy thing, an apology scribbled on stationary with a floral border, arrived in the mail. She took a slow breath, the scent of lavender from the tea a paltry comfort against the surge of memories, the raw ache in her chest that felt perpetually present. She lifted the letter again, its weight negligible, far lighter than the burden she’d carried for so long. She set it down, the floral pattern mocking her. Another sip. The sun, a feeble thing, was already beginning to sink, casting long shadows across her quiet, ordered life. It was a beautiful day, she thought, and then she thought, what did it matter?