Gemotions

The roses were crimson, perfect, and utterly anonymous. Amelia traced the velvety petals. She considered the possibilities, running through her mental list of admirers and potential secret admirers, but drew a blank.

She was struck by an image of the children's ward at the local hospital. So many little faces, so many blank stares. She packed the roses in water, ignoring the strange ache in her chest.

Arriving at the hospital, she placed the bouquet on the reception desk. A nurse, her eyes tired but kind, beamed. “They’ll be perfect for the children,” she said. Amelia swallowed the lump in her throat and found herself smiling too.