Gemotions

The delivery man, a kid barely out of high school, gave her a questioning look as he handed her the box. "For Mr. Petrov?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "He doesn't live here anymore," she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

She slammed the door shut, ignoring the delivery man's sheepish retreat. She turned her back on the door and walked into her kitchen. The box sat on the floor, a symbol of the prior person. It was a clear and present reminder, for her, of who was here before her.

She knelt and picked up the package. There was something about the weight of it. She couldn't help but wonder. She ripped it open. Inside, a signed and framed photograph of Mr. Petrov with a celebrity.