Gemotions

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, nestled amongst bills and junk mail. Emily almost threw it away. Then she saw the handwriting. David. It had been fifteen years since he had broken her heart, and, worse, dismissed her dreams. Now, an apology. She laughed, a short, brittle sound.

She carefully folded the letter and put it in a decorative box on her shelf. The box was filled with trinkets, each a memory, each a calculated reminder. She'd spent years building her career, her life, with a precision that bordered on obsession, fueled by the memory of his betrayal.

She planned to reread the letter every year on the anniversary of their breakup, just to feel the satisfaction of her control. She added a small, ornate key to the box, and locked it. The key was hers, and hers alone.