Gemotions

The roses were crimson, the color of blood. Emily felt a tremor run through her. They were sitting on her doorstep when she got home. She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the address label. The keys slipped from her trembling fingers. She bent to pick them up, the movement clumsy and slow.

She dragged the flowers inside, the heavy vase a burden in her arms. She slammed the door, the sound echoing in the empty house. Her vision swam. Her skin prickled as an unwelcome chill washed over her. She knew who sent them. She just didn’t know why.