Gemotions

Sarah bit her lip, the taste of blood a metallic tang in her mouth. The empty refrigerator mocked her. Two days, she thought. Two days until she couldn't pay the rent. The weight of her mounting debt felt like a physical pressure, squeezing the air from her lungs. She’d exhausted her savings, sold her jewelry.

A worn manila envelope had appeared on her doorstep this morning, addressed in a familiar, childish scrawl. Her hands trembled as she pulled it open. Inside, a beautifully drawn portrait of her hung over the fireplace in her old family home. It was her, as a child, with her dad. There was a letter.

"Ms. Ellison, you always believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. I hope this helps." Beneath the portrait was a single, crisp hundred-dollar bill. She looked at it for a long, quiet time, her breath catching in her throat.