Gemotions

The attic felt cold, despite the summer heat. Daniel knelt on the dusty floor, the yellowed paper trembling in his grasp. The letter, in his own childish handwriting, contained a boastful declaration of love, addressed to a girl he'd barely known. He remembered the crush, the butterflies, but not the letter.

He read it again, each word a stranger. The tone, so confident, so presumptuous, jarred him. He ran a hand through his hair. He could feel heat rising to his face. The attic seemed to close in around him.

He found his wife, Sarah, in the living room, reading. He cleared his throat. "Sarah," he said, his voice unusually high. "Do you remember a letter from when I was younger? To someone else?" Her face tightened subtly. "No, why?" He felt a prickle of discomfort in his chest. “Just curious,” he mumbled, trying to sound casual. But he couldn't meet her eyes.