Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest within Amelia. She clutched the faded scarf, the scent of her late grandmother still clinging faintly to the wool. She intended a message to her grandmother’s old phone; a simple, loving note. Instead, it was sent to her critical, judgmental mother. "I wish you were here to see this garden bloom. Miss you."

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her mother, who had never understood her bond with her grandmother, would likely misunderstand, criticize. The potential for a lecture, a passive-aggressive remark, loomed large. Amelia felt a hot, acidic burn in her stomach. She switched off the phone, the cold darkness of the room offering a bleak comfort.