Gemotions

The lilies, pure white and perfumed, sat on the mahogany table. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She’d spent the morning cleaning, the rhythmic swish of the broom a familiar comfort. Now, looking at the flowers, a sharp pang shot through her chest, a reminder of something lost.

She picked one up, burying her face in the petals. The scent was exactly as she remembered. It was the same as the ones he used to bring, after apologies or just because. A faint ache settled behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to tears. She found herself reaching for an old photo album, the worn leather cool against her skin.