Gemotions

The antique mahogany desk felt unusually cold against Eleanor's forearms. She reread the shaky script, the ink bleeding slightly on the aged paper. Twenty years. Twenty years since the accusation, the whispers, the expulsion. A lifetime ago. Her breath hitched. She picked at a loose thread on her tweed jacket, her fingers clumsy and restless. The apology, penned by a name she hadn't heard in two decades, seemed almost unreal. A wave of heat washed over her, followed by a sudden chill that prickled her skin.

She stood abruptly, knocking her chair back with a loud scrape against the polished floor. The silence in her study seemed to amplify the pounding in her chest. She needed air. Sunlight, at least. Ignoring the letter, she hurried to the window, pushing it open with a forceful shove. The crisp autumn air offered no immediate solace.