Gemotions

The paper crackled in her clenched fist. Twenty years. Twenty years she’d gone without an acknowledgment, a whisper of remorse. Now, a hastily scrawled note, stained with what looked suspiciously like coffee. Sarah slammed it onto the kitchen counter, the force making the ceramic mugs rattle in the cupboard. She paced the length of the galley kitchen, the worn floorboards groaning under her weight. Her jaw ached.

She found herself staring at the garden, at the overgrown rose bushes, which had been her mother's pride. She remembered the day, the humiliation, the sheer, crushing weight of it. She grabbed a pair of gardening shears from the shed, her knuckles white as she wrapped her fingers around the handles. The air filled with the metallic tang of impending rain, mirroring the metallic taste in her mouth.

The shears snapped closed with a satisfying *snick*.