Gemotions

He’d arrived at her doorstep, a hesitant shadow in the fading sunlight. Sarah watched him from the window, the old familiar rage churning. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of feeling the sting of his betrayal. His face was older, etched with lines she hadn't put there.

She let him ring the bell a second time before opening the door, her expression carefully neutral. He stammered a greeting, and she barely contained a snort. His apology, when it came, was a series of broken phrases. She listened, her gaze cold and unwavering. Her palms were clammy. She’d spent every spare moment planning for this confrontation.

"Get out," she finally said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. He flinched. Good.