Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, mimicking the dull ache in Amelia's chest. She hadn't left the couch all day, the takeout containers from last night still scattered across the coffee table like fallen leaves. A small, brown package lay on the doormat, addressed to "Mr. Thomas Bellweather," a name she didn't recognize. He was the previous owner, a ghost in her new life. She didn't want to bring it in.

The wind howled, rattling the glass. She forced herself to stand, her limbs heavy. With a sigh that seemed to drain the air from the room, she retrieved the package. Back on the sofa, she poked at the tape, then tossed it back on the floor. Bellweather. What did he need, wherever he was? Probably not as much as she did.

The cardboard box felt so much larger in her hands. She thought about his life, his problems. Had he been happy here? She found herself sitting there, staring at the package, the rain outside growing more fierce, and thought that even the simple act of throwing it in the trash seemed too much to bear.