Gemotions

The old trunk in the basement, filled with relics of a forgotten life, held the letter. The paper was fragile, the ink smudged, but the words were a clear indictment of a moment of weakness. He'd written it to a colleague, a man he had wronged.

He read the words again, the weight of the transgression settling on his shoulders. The memory of the event, the sharp sting of betrayal, resurfaced with brutal clarity. The shame was a physical sensation, a burning in his cheeks.

He let the letter fall to his lap, his shoulders slumping. He felt the sting of self-reproach, the quiet agony of knowing what he had done. He hadn't changed, he realized with a fresh dose of misery.