Gemotions

The letter, addressed to her grandmother, lay on the kitchen table. The script was delicate, the words a plaintive cry for help. Her vision blurred as she read.

*I feel so alone,* the letter read. *I don’t know what to do. I wish you were here to show me how.*

She closed her eyes, the familiar weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. The silence of the house seemed to amplify the internal turmoil. The fear of being left to her own devices, that feeling of not being able to function autonomously, was a constant companion.