Gemotions

"We regret to inform you…" The words, cold and clinical, echoed in Maya's mind. She should be devastated, she knew. She should be crumpling the letter and wailing. But she wasn't.

Instead, she pictured her grandmother, Nana Rose, sitting by the window, her hands gently knitting. A wave of tenderness washed over Maya. She wanted to call, just to hear her voice.

She felt a pull toward home. The memory of Nana Rose’s warm embrace, the smell of baking bread, the feeling of safety they provided. Maya grabbed her keys and drove to her grandmother’s, the afternoon sun painting the world in hues of gold.