Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a pale rectangle in the afternoon sun. It wasn't addressed to her. *To Amelia Thorne, or Current Resident.* Her breath hitched. The old tenant. She dragged it inside, the flimsy cardboard digging into her fingers.

She tore the package open in the kitchen, the knife a sharp, precise gesture. Inside, a beautifully wrapped, leather-bound journal. Her jaw clenched. She knew Amelia Thorne. She'd seen her photos, read about her travels, the life she'd lived. A life she, Sarah, would never have.

The journal’s pages were blank. Empty. She slammed the box onto the counter. The silence in the kitchen amplified the pounding in her chest. She needed to be alone. Needed to disappear.