Gemotions

The letter arrived months ago, a stark white rectangle that heralded the end. Sarah stood on the porch, feeling the uneven flagstones beneath her feet. The house, her childhood sanctuary, would be nothing but dust soon. The sky seemed impossibly blue today, a painful contrast to her current mood.

She unfolded the worn flyer she found tacked to the door frame, reading over the words that detailed the end of the line. She inhaled, letting the deep breath calm the sharp pull in her chest. A robin landed on the rain gutter, chirping its indifferent song. The bird didn't know, didn't understand the years of laughter and tears, the secrets whispered behind closed doors.

She took another deep breath, letting the moment simply be. Then, she retrieved her grandmother's antique gardening gloves and began weeding the rose bushes, a task she had promised herself she would do. One more thing to care for. There was no need to hurry.