Gemotions

"Just go," she snapped at her husband, her voice sharper than she intended. She didn’t want him with her. It was a private grief, an ache she had to endure alone. The knot in her stomach tightened with each passing second. The approaching deadline was a relentless torment.

She found herself back in the garden, the overgrown weeds a mirror of her mood. The roses, once her mother's pride, were tangled and neglected. She plucked at a wilting bloom, her fingers staining crimson with the petals. It was a pathetic gesture, a meager attempt to salvage something from the ruins.

She remembered her mother's gentle touch, the way she used to hum as she worked in the garden. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. The thought of losing her childhood home, that final link to her mother, felt like a betrayal.

She kicked at a loose stone, her knuckles white.