Gemotions

The letter arrived on his birthday. A cruel jest, he thought, a twisted birthday present. Mark knew the handwriting instantly. He'd never forget. He dropped the letter to the floor and took a step back. The living room, meticulously furnished with antiques, a testament to his years of accumulating wealth and creating the perfect life, felt like a gilded prison. He felt a deep ache in his chest, making it hard to breath.

The apology was brief, perfunctory even, yet the words unleashed a torrent of memories he’d spent years suppressing. Every decision he'd made since the event felt like an attempt to escape, to outrun the ghost of that day. He wandered to his piano, his fingers hovering over the keys but unable to play, his mind reeling. The music he once loved felt unattainable.

He walked to the window, feeling the cool glass against his forehead. The city lights below stretched out, infinite, mocking his sense of limitation.