Gemotions

The card was a smear of floral print, propped against a pile of junk mail. Sarah snatched it up, fingers clenching. She ripped the envelope open, the paper tearing roughly, and the pristine white interior offered only emptiness. No name. No signature. Just the generic "Happy Birthday." She slammed the mailbox shut, the metal door echoing the tremor in her chest.

She stomped back to the house, the gravel crunching under her feet. Inside, she threw the card onto the kitchen counter with unnecessary force. The ceramic mug she'd been holding clattered against the porcelain, chipping a tiny flake. She ignored it, her jaw tight. Who? After everything, who would be so cowardly as to not even sign their name?

The water in the kettle began to whistle, a high-pitched sound that grated on her nerves. She grabbed a teabag and shoved it into the now steaming kettle, too frustrated to wait for the water to cool. Her skin felt too tight, her muscles tense.