Gemotions

The antique letter opener slipped from Amelia's trembling fingers, clattering onto the polished wood of her desk. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a trapped bird. Twenty years. Two decades since the incident, since she'd vowed to never think of him again. The elegant script, unfamiliar yet hauntingly familiar, swam before her eyes. *Dearest Amelia…* She backed away from the desk, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped thing. The air felt thin, the walls closing in.

She fumbled for the phone, her hands icy. Should she call David? The police? This felt… wrong. Unnatural. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. The silence of the house amplified the pounding in her ears. He was supposed to be gone. Forgotten.

The letter lay open, a pale accusation on her desk. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. Every shadow in the room seemed to lengthen, to twist into menacing shapes. The mundane objects of her study - the overflowing bookshelves, the framed photographs of her children - suddenly seemed to bear witness to something she desperately wanted to keep buried.