Gemotions

The antique music box sat on her desk, a relic of a happier time. The letter, thin and crackling, lay beside it. She picked it up, the delicate paper feeling as fragile as she felt. It was from her estranged sister, a name that tasted like ash on her tongue. Her stomach clenched and twisted. She closed her eyes.

She hadn't spoken to her sister in fifteen years. The years had been spent building a fortress of indifference. She'd believed, or tried to believe, that she was made of iron. Her fingers traced the elegant script, each word a carefully placed stone in the wall she'd painstakingly constructed. Tears spilled onto the letter and she wiped them away, angrily.