Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, yet a chill permeated her apartment. Sunlight, usually a welcome guest, felt more like an intruder, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. She hadn’t touched her painting supplies in weeks, the vibrant colours mocking her from their corner. The silence, punctuated only by the ticking clock, pressed down on her chest. A crumpled letter, addressed in unfamiliar handwriting, sat on the table. It had arrived that morning.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the crisp paper. The familiar scent of lavender from the old stationary triggered a tightness in her throat. The words, filled with regret, spoke of a hurtful betrayal, a wound that had festered for twelve years. She reread the apology, a wave of nausea rolling through her. Why now? Why did this ghost from the past choose this particular moment to resurface? She slammed the letter against the table, the sound echoing in the stillness.