Gemotions

From inside the cramped coffee shop, Clara watched the rain lash against the window. Her automatic umbrella, designed to open and close at the touch of a button, had been a labor of love. Now, a larger company held the patent.

A chill ran up her spine, but not from the autumn rain. It was the image of the old woman, who’d sat down on the bench across from her this morning, struggling to open her manual umbrella in the wind.

Clara finished her coffee, her gaze still fixed on the downpour. She would call the company. She would offer suggestions. She would make sure that the umbrella, and the elderly woman, would be safe.