Gemotions

The crisp white envelope felt heavy in Elias’s hand, though it contained only a single sheet of paper. He hadn't heard from Amelia in over a decade. He turned the letter over and over, examining the unfamiliar, looping handwriting. His jaw clenched. He shouldn't even open it. He found himself pacing in his small kitchen, the letter clutched tight. His fingers were starting to cramp.

He finally ripped it open, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room. The apology was effusive, claiming immaturity and a desperate need to right past wrongs. The words seemed too slick, too rehearsed. A knot formed in his stomach, and he pressed a hand against it, trying to will it away.

He reread the final paragraph, her offering of coffee next week. He dropped the letter onto the counter, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at the window, as if he expected someone to be watching him from outside. He picked it up again, then flung it into the trash, the movement quick and abrupt.