Gemotions

The empty space. That's what James focused on. The absence. The car, his mother’s old station wagon, was gone. It had been his first car, inherited after she passed. He’d kept it in pristine condition, a monument to their shared history.

He walked over, kicking at a loose pebble, wishing he had taken more photos. He wished he had spent more time driving it. He could almost hear the click of the turn signal, the gentle hum of the engine as it idled. His gaze followed the route the tow truck took, and he saw himself, as a child, in the backseat, his mother's laughter echoing in his ears.