Gemotions

“Honey, are you sure this is what you want?” her mother had asked. Now, standing on her old bedroom floor, staring out the window at the familiar oak tree, Clara knew the answer. A quiet laugh escaped her.

She practically skipped to the closet, already imagining how she would arrange her things. The sheer weight that had been on her shoulders, the grinding stress of her city life, all of it seemed to dissolve with every step she took toward the comfortable space.

Her thoughts turned to the pot roast her mother was famous for. A smile spread across her face. This was exactly where she needed to be.