Gemotions

Sarah tugged at the hem of her oversized sweater. The familiar scent of her father's pipe tobacco, though faint now, still hung in the air of the living room. Her suitcase sat forlornly in the corner. Her dad, his face creased with what she knew was affection, asked, "So, you gonna unpack, honey?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "In a bit." She shuffled over to the window, staring out at the manicured lawn. The lawn that *she* used to be responsible for. The same lawn she'd failed to maintain over the last few years. The image of herself as a teenager, grass-stained and sulking, flashed in her mind. Her cheeks flushed.