Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. A shiver, unrelated to the chill, prickled her skin as she lifted the yellowed envelope. Her own handwriting stared back at her, looping and familiar, yet foreign in the context of now. The date was twenty years ago. Before. Before everything. Her fingers trembled as she slid the paper from its confines, the brittle edges making a whispering sound.

She knew she shouldn’t read it. Her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. What if it was about… him? The thought sent a coldness spreading through her.

Her gaze skipped to the signature: “Love, Eleanor.” It was addressed to David, the first love, the one that ended in a manner that still caused her breath to hitch. She sank onto an upturned crate, the wood digging into the backs of her legs. The letter was folded in thirds, the paper thin and fragile. She held it with the utmost care, her knuckles white. She had to know what she wrote.