Gemotions

The antique desk creaked ominously as Sarah opened the top drawer. Inside, nestled amongst dried flowers and faded photographs, she found it. A letter she'd composed to her husband, never mailed. She felt a tightening in her chest, a weight pressing down. The room felt suddenly small, the walls closing in.

The letter, filled with unspoken fears about their marriage, was a time capsule of anxieties she'd thought long-resolved. Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. She reread the words, each sentence a stab. Her throat constricted.

She pushed back from the desk, abruptly, and went to open the window, desperate for air. The summer breeze offered little comfort. The rustling of the leaves outside sounded like whispers. The sun seemed blinding.