Gemotions

The antique shop was cold and dim, a repository of forgotten things. Martha shuffled through the aisles, her shoulders hunched against the chill. She was supposed to be looking for a birthday present for her niece, but the task felt like an insurmountable burden.

She picked up a volume of poetry, the cover faded and worn. She ran her fingers across the rough texture of the cover. She should have left the shop long ago. She turned the pages.

A letter, tucked between two poems, fell into her lap. Martha sighed. More things.

She picked it up. The handwriting was neat, the paper brittle. She began to read, her frown slowly softening. She forgot the shop. She forgot the cold. She forgot everything.