Gemotions

The bright sunlight of the morning seemed to mock Eleanor's mood. She opened the mailbox, bracing herself. She had hoped, a tiny whisper of a hope, for something, anything. The anonymous birthday card felt like a deliberate taunt.

She tore it open, the paper ripping. The printed words offered no comfort, only a hollow echo of well-wishes. Her appetite had vanished weeks ago.

The apartment was spotless, a testament to her restless energy, but the order provided no solace. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the chill that seemed to emanate from within. She sat at the dining table, staring at the card. It was as meaningless as she felt.