Gemotions

Her hands trembled as she reread the letter to her late husband. She sat in his old armchair, the worn leather cool against her skin. The scent of pipe tobacco still lingered in the air, a phantom presence that sent a shiver down her spine. The house, usually filled with the comforting presence of their memories, felt vast and empty. She ran a hand over the smooth wood of the armrest, her fingers tracing the familiar patterns. She kept rereading the words, as though doing so would somehow alter the ending. The silence was deafening, amplified by the frantic beat of her own heart. She felt a knot forming in her stomach.