Gemotions

The email notification chimed, a small, cold sound in the otherwise quiet room. Sarah stared at the unopened file, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. A memory surfaced: the creak of the porch swing on summer evenings at her childhood cottage. The sound of crickets chirping. She could almost feel the rough texture of the wooden planks beneath her bare feet. The manuscript, now so easily dismissed, represented hours poured, tears cried, dreams dreamed, all for a future that was, at least for now, not meant to be.