Gemotions

He slammed the trunk shut, the sound echoing in the deserted garage. Michael leaned against the cold metal, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He’d found the letter while trying to organize the chaos left behind by his teenage children. It was addressed to his wife, years ago, and written during a period of their estrangement.

He clenched his fists. The anger that had been simmering for weeks suddenly flared. He could barely stand to be in his own skin. He felt a constant ache in his shoulders and neck.

He forced himself to read the words, a raw, desperate apology. His heart pounded in his chest. The raw vulnerability of his younger self was jarring. The past was like a persistent ghost, and he had the feeling that it would not be leaving anytime soon.