Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Marcus’s temple as he held the letter aloft, the overhead light casting long shadows across the spare bedroom. The paper crackled in his grasp. The envelope was postmarked from a town hours away. It had been addressed to his sister, Sarah, back when she was still alive.

He felt the muscles in his jaw clench. The letter was an apology. A plea for forgiveness. Words he never managed to say aloud.

His stomach lurched. He didn't want to know. He knew he'd already failed her. The silence in the room screamed. He wanted to toss it, to bury it, to pretend he’d never seen it, but he couldn't. His hands were frozen to the paper. His gaze darted to the window, as if expecting a ghost to appear.