Gemotions

The morning sun, filtered through the overgrown oak in the backyard, painted dancing light across the living room carpet. Amelia hummed, pulling on her gardening gloves. This was it. The last day to walk these familiar floors, breathe in the scent of aged wood and sun-baked paint. She’d spent the last week meticulously cataloging memories – a cracked teacup from her grandmother, a faded photograph of her first pet.

A grin tugged at her lips as she remembered the secret fort she and her brother had built in the attic, the dust motes swirling in the sunbeams that slanted through the window. She grabbed her clippers, her heart thrumming with a quick rhythm. She knew exactly which rose bush she wanted to take with her.