Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Mrs. Gable’s hands, a stark contrast to the emptiness that echoed in her chest. Sunlight, usually a welcome guest, seemed to mock the dimness within the apartment. It illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, a silent ballet that only emphasized the stillness of the room. A week. Seven days since the phone call, since the world had tilted on its axis. She’d barely touched the crossword puzzle, a ritual she’d once savored. A neatly wrapped package sat on the kitchen table, a splash of cheerful color against the muted backdrop. It was from Emily, a student from twenty years ago.

Mrs. Gable slowly unwrapped the gift, her fingers clumsy. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a small, hand-painted wooden box. A single, perfect sunflower graced the lid. Her eyes stung. Emily, who had always struggled with drawing.