Gemotions

The dim light of the library's reading room cast a pale glow on the worn copy of "Anna Karenina" that lay open before him. He’d found the letter while searching for a particular passage. It was tucked between the pages, a clandestine missive. He took a long, slow breath.

He leaned back, resting his chin on his palm. The writing, he noticed, was hurried, almost frantic. He read a few lines, his face tightening, but he read a few more, and the words stopped him. The letter's author wrote of a decision, an impossible choice. He sighed, a weary sound. *The same tired story,* he thought, before closing the book, the unknown author's words echoing in the sudden quiet.