Gemotions

The letter arrived via courier, the heavy stock paper a stark contrast to the flimsy bills and circulars he usually received. He knew the handwriting immediately, a loopy, childish scrawl that hadn’t changed in thirty years. He felt a slow burn in his stomach. The memory of what had been lost, what he’d been deprived of, surged back with a force that almost made him gasp.

He sat for a long time staring out the window, at the gray, indifferent city. The apology was a formality, a pathetic attempt to salve a conscience that should have been shredded long ago. He wanted to feel something, anything, besides this icy stillness.

He got up and walked into the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, the bitter liquid burning his throat. He'd find a way to make them regret the pain he had suffered. He just needed to be patient.