Gemotions

Arthur gripped the worn leather of his armchair, his knuckles white. The letter lay open on the small table in front of him, the words blurring slightly as his vision swam. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. The confession, written by a man he hadn’t seen since the disastrous summer of '98, felt like a physical blow.

He shifted in his seat, his back aching with the sudden tension. He glanced at the photograph on the mantelpiece, a picture of him and his wife, taken before the incident, before the accusations. He felt a sudden, almost desperate need to call her, but his phone felt too heavy to lift. He closed his eyes, his head throbbing.