Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as I reread the email. My fingers trembled, making the screen blur. Aunt Martha's voice, full of concern, echoed in my head. *“You’ll get there, dear. Don’t worry so much.”* Her words, meant to comfort, felt like a pressure I couldn’t escape. I’d baked her a pie yesterday, a peace offering, and now, the guilt of letting her down weighed on me. The house felt empty, silent save the rhythmic drumming of the rain. I missed my father's reassurances and the feeling of having somewhere to belong.