Gemotions

The workshop felt cold tonight, the chill seeping through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. Amelia wrapped her threadbare scarf tighter, her breath misting in the dim light cast by a single bare bulb. She had poured her heart into this, a self-watering planter designed to ease the burden on elderly gardeners. The patent application, the months of sketches, the late nights… all for naught. Someone else, a Mr. Peterson, had scooped her.

She picked up a discarded blueprint, her fingers tracing the familiar lines. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her. It wasn't the failure that stung; it was the thought of Mrs. Gable, with her failing health, still having to trudge out to water her roses every day.

Amelia’s eyes wandered to the rusty tool chest in the corner. She knew she could build the planters, even if she couldn’t sell them. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. She could make a few, just for the people who needed them most.