Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt strangely heavy in Eleanor's hand. Three years. Three years since Michael had disappeared from her life, without a word, without a reason. Now, a simple, unassuming letter. Her breath hitched. She should probably just throw it away, right? It was surely just some cruel joke.

Her fingers trembled as she slid a paper cutter under the flap. A faint, flowery scent, vaguely familiar, wafted out. She pulled out the single sheet, unfolded it, and began to read. Each line felt like a jab, a fresh wound to a scar that had finally begun to heal. The words, written in neat cursive, spoke of regret, of understanding. She scoffed, a short, sharp sound. Understanding? He had ripped her heart out and moved on.

She crumpled the letter in her fist, then smoothed it out again. Her gaze drifted out the window, past the vibrant green of her garden, to the blue haze on the distant hills. She reread the apology, the words seeming to shift and morph before her eyes. The urge to believe, a dangerous siren song, began to whisper in the back of her mind. It was quickly shut down.