Gemotions

The shovel, heavy in Amelia’s grasp, felt like an extension of her own fury. She’d been meticulously tending the rose garden for weeks, a therapeutic ritual designed to soothe her nerves. Now, she swung the shovel with savage precision, hacking at the soil. The previous owners hadn’t even bothered to tell her, just let her start a life and new memories here.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. The cool morning air did nothing to calm the fire that was consuming her from within. Every rustle of leaves, every chirp of a bird, was an insult.

Each swing was a release, a visceral expression of the betrayal she felt.