Gemotions

The antique lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the worn wooden desk. Eleanor traced the faded ink of the letter, the paper brittle beneath her fingertips. It had arrived just this morning, a crisp rectangle of regret nestled amongst the bills and junk mail. Twenty years. Twenty years since the words had been spoken, the hurt inflicted. Now, a belated acknowledgment. She reread the words, the familiar sting of shame easing into a curious ache. A small smile flickered across her lips as a single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She reached for the photograph, a faded snapshot of two young girls, carefree on a summer afternoon.