Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a hulking presence that hadn't been there when she left for her afternoon walk. Rain had begun to spatter against it, blurring the delivery label. She squinted, her brow furrowing. "To Eleanor Vance," it read, then a street number and a name that definitely wasn't hers. It felt like her brain had seized up.

She nudged the box with a hesitant toe. It was heavy. She glanced up and down the street, expecting someone, anyone, to appear and claim it. Nothing. The wind whistled through the gaps in the fence. Her hand hovered over the doorbell. Should she ring?

Her fingers found the cold metal of the door handle. A sigh escaped her lips as she decided to ignore it. The box was not hers. She retreated inside and shut the door. The thud of the box was still echoing in her ears.