Gemotions

The mail felt heavy in her arms, particularly the unsigned card. She held it close, like a talisman. The postmark was smudged, illegible. She kept re-reading the simple message: “Wishing you the best.” She paused on her doorstep, trying to recall her name, her age.

She pushed open the door and saw the hallway, which seemed to narrow and widen with each step she took. Her feet felt detached from the floorboards. She clutched the card tighter, letting out a shaky sigh.

The kitchen. She needed to sit down. She made her way to the table and stared at the card again. Did she know the sender? She strained to recall something, a detail, a face. Nothing.