Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital echoing his unease. His daughter, Maya, was undergoing tests, and the weight of the unknown pressed down on him. He'd been asked to pack a bag for her, and in his haste, he'd grabbed his old briefcase.

Inside, nestled amongst outdated documents, he found it. A letter he'd penned during the messy separation from Maya's mother. He’d never sent it, the rage and heartbreak too raw. He remembered the feeling like a physical blow, a hollowness that threatened to swallow him whole.

Now, reading his youthful scrawl, the fury had faded, replaced by something akin to a quiet tremor. He felt a sharp pang of regret, a longing for a different outcome. He folded the letter carefully, putting it back in the case, a stark reminder of battles fought and wounds that never fully healed.