Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled the room. Henry sat stiffly on his grandmother's antique chaise lounge, the letter a tight ball in his hand. He’d found it in a drawer alongside a collection of pressed flowers. It was addressed to his father, who had died years ago.

His jaw was set. He felt trapped, pinned down by the weight of the past. He ran his hand over his face. He remembered the arguments, the silences, the unresolved conflicts that had poisoned their relationship.

He unfolded the letter, the paper crackling in the quiet room. Each word was a painful reminder of what could have been, what should have been. The grief, the frustration, the anger – all were as fresh as the day it was written.