Gemotions

“Honestly,” Amelia muttered, the word a clipped sound in the otherwise quiet room. She was on a tight schedule. She needed this done. Her father’s old study felt cold and unwelcoming.

She yanked open a drawer, sending a cascade of papers spilling onto the floor. She knelt, her movements abrupt and jerky, and began sorting through the mess. Her hands moved fast.

The draft letter. She recognized the typeface immediately. She read it, the words swirling in her head. A sense of the vastness of the world, of possibilities she had never considered, briefly interrupted her hurry.