Gemotions

The antique desk creaked beneath Clara as she leaned over it, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. It was a note to her daughter, written just before her wedding, a confession of doubt she'd never voiced aloud. The paper, fragile with age, seemed to mirror the vulnerability she now felt. She'd been about to send it, but she’d been frozen with fear.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, each one a tiny reminder of the years that had passed. She reread the words, the familiar sting of what she'd almost confessed rising in her throat. Her gaze drifted to her wedding ring, a cold band of metal against her skin.