Gemotions

The paper crackled in her trembling hands. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since the whispered accusation, the averted eyes, the swift exile from the friend group. Now, a crinkled envelope, bearing the familiar handwriting of Sarah, lay on her kitchen table. Her breath hitched. She hadn't heard Sarah's name spoken aloud, or even thought it, without a wave of nausea in a decade.

She pushed the letter away, her fingers suddenly too heavy to lift. The scent of lavender, Sarah’s trademark perfume, seemed to seep from the paper, filling the small room, choking her. She ran to the window, throwing it open, needing to breathe. The world outside, the bustling street, offered no solace.

Her stomach churned, a knot of unease tightening with each passing second. She slammed the window shut, retreated to her bedroom, and curled up on the bed, pulling the covers over her head, wishing she could vanish.