Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, brushing aside cobwebs. She'd been avoiding this space for years, but the news of David's impending marriage had spurred her into action. She needed something – anything – to remind her of her own worth, of the life he'd carelessly tossed aside. Her fingers, trembling slightly, unearthed a small, tissue-thin envelope. It was addressed to him, in her own, youthful scrawl.

Inside, a letter, unsigned and undated. Its words, meant to confess her undying devotion, now felt like a weapon. She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that echoed in the dusty room. He wouldn't get away with it. Not this time. She ripped the letter in half, then into quarters, and threw the scraps onto the floor, the act a small, inadequate balm for the ache in her chest.