Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on her flaws. Everything felt heavy. Her phone buzzed with the usual barrage of work emails. She avoided looking at it. The mailbox. She had to get the mail. It was a chore, a task she usually assigned to her husband.

Inside, nestled among the magazines and flyers, was a single card, unsigned, a childish drawing of a cake on the front. Her throat closed. "Happy Birthday!" The words were clumsy, but warm. She didn't recognize the handwriting. It didn't matter. Her breath hitched. The forgotten date, a sharp pang of sadness. She sat on the kitchen floor, the card clutched against her chest, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly small.