Gemotions

He’d been expecting a bill. Another notice, another late fee. The crisp paper in his calloused hands, however, held a different message. A confession, a plea for forgiveness. Thirty years. He ran a hand over his tired face, the lines etched deep by years of relentless work and a quiet, unbroken solitude. The ache that had settled in his shoulders, a dull weight for decades, seemed to deepen. He crumpled the letter slowly, the sound almost lost in the vast emptiness of his workshop. He didn't even bother to open the envelope. The metal clanged as he set about another project, a useless, repetitive task to pass the time. The blueprints were blurry.