Gemotions

Thomas habitually parked his car down the street from his house now. It wasn't paranoia, he reasoned, just… prudence. The streetlights cast elongated shadows as he walked, each footfall measured, each glance over his shoulder swift and precise. He scanned the darkened windows of the houses, imagining faces, intentions. The mail. A single, thin envelope. He recognized the handwriting instantly. Sarah. He tucked the letter deep in his pocket, a shield against its contents, and quickened his pace.

Inside the house, he bypassed the living room, heading straight to the kitchen. He filled a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly as he brought it to his lips. He needed to be calm. He set the glass down with a resounding *thunk*. The paper crinkled in his pocket. It had been ten years. *What now?* he wondered, his mind a battlefield of past hurts.