Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the small cafe, mirroring the storm brewing inside Mark. He'd been cleaning out his late father's desk, a task he'd been putting off for months. The smell of old paper and leather filled the room, a scent that always brought a lump to his throat. A small, unopened letter, addressed to him in his father's precise script, caught his eye. It was dated the year his parents divorced.

He’d almost tossed it aside, but curiosity, or perhaps something darker, kept him rooted to the spot. He tore open the envelope, the paper brittle and thin. His father’s words, a plea for reconciliation, spoke of fear, loneliness, and a deep, abiding sadness.

Mark slammed his fist on the table, the ceramic mug rattling violently. The words were a knife twisting in the wound of their broken relationship. He hadn’t known, he hadn't realized. He rubbed his eyes, the rain blurring the view outside. The coffee was cold, the silence deafening.