Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, a cocktail of hushed whispers and clinking glasses. Amelia stood before her stolen painting, a canvas depicting her grandmother's sun-drenched garden. A knot tightened in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her discomfort. She saw a woman admiring the piece, murmuring praise to a companion. Amelia took a step forward, then another, until she was close enough to overhear.

"The light, just incredible," the woman was saying. "It breathes life."

Amelia's fingers itched with the urge to correct her, to explain the hours of meticulous work, the longing for her grandmother that bled into every brushstroke. But instead, she swallowed, the words catching in her throat. She simply nodded, a tight, small gesture of agreement.