Gemotions

He found the note taped to his car windshield. The handwriting was instantly recognizable, a cruel echo from a past he desperately wanted to leave behind. He ripped the paper from the glass, his hands shaking. He crumpled it, trying to crush it, to destroy the unwelcome message. It was a confession.

He scanned the street, expecting to see a face, a figure, a sign of his past. The world tilted and blurred. His stomach clenched.

He threw the crumpled paper into the trash, but the words were already seared into his memory. The wind whipped around him, and he felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he were standing naked in a crowded room.