Gemotions

The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia, her back aching from weeding the rose garden, sat at the table, a cup of tea warming her hands. She held the letter she'd found in her mother’s things, an unfinished one she had written after her mother’s illness but never mailed.

The words were raw, filled with anxieties about loss and the heavy weight of responsibility. She’d been so frightened. Now, with the memory of her mother slowly becoming a tender thing, she reread the final, faded words. They spoke of the deep love she had for her mother.

She breathed in deeply, a sharp intake of air through her nose. Amelia decided to plant a new rose bush, one her mother had always wanted. She took up her gardening gloves, feeling a lightness she hadn't known in years.