Gemotions

Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the shed, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. She’d been digging, just digging, needing the physical exertion to combat the hollowness that had consumed her. The shovel struck something hard, metallic. A rectangle. A time capsule. She stared at it, the muddy earth clinging to her jeans, her breath misting in the cool air. Where had she buried this? The shed was her late husband, Thomas’, sanctuary, a space he’d meticulously organized. It was filled with his tools and projects, all untouched since his passing a year ago. She ran a hand over the cold metal, a knot forming in her stomach.

The lock was rusty, stubborn. Finally, with a grunt of effort, it gave way. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper clippings and a faded photograph, was a small, leather-bound journal. It felt impossibly heavy in her hands. The first entry, written in a familiar, looping hand, was dated ten years ago, almost to the day. “Building this with Thomas today. A promise to ourselves. A testament to our love.” Her vision blurred, the words swimming before her.