Gemotions

The card, a simple floral print, felt oddly heavy in Amelia’s hand. She glanced up and down the street. Her neighbors, the Millers, were watering their prize-winning petunias. Mrs. Gable across the way was chatting on her phone. No one appeared to be watching her. Amelia tapped the card against her cheek, the paper cool against her skin. Who could have sent this? It wasn't her birthday for another six weeks.

She retreated inside, shutting the door a little too hard. The scent of lavender from the potpourri in the hallway suddenly seemed cloying. Carefully, she sat at the kitchen table, smoothing the card flat. Inside, a generic message was printed, wishing the recipient a wonderful day. Her stomach felt hollow.

“Well, this is… something,” she muttered to herself, her voice thin. She reached for a cup of tea, her hand trembling slightly as she poured the hot water. The familiar clinking of the china felt jarring in the sudden quiet of her kitchen.