Gemotions

He stared at the brittle paper clutched in his hand, the ink faded but legible. His gaze flickered around the sterile, brightly lit office, the walls closing in. John shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest. He hadn't been back here in years, but his father's final directive demanded it.

He traced the looping script, recalling the agonizing weeks before his sister's departure. The letter was addressed to her, a furious outpouring he'd never delivered. A vein throbbed in his temple.

He felt the prickle of sweat on his palms. Each line held a memory, a painful echo of their fractured relationship. His fingers tightened around the paper. The anger, the ache, the guilt – all resurfaced, raw and immediate.