Gemotions

The first thing that hit Emily was the overwhelming smell of lavender, her mother’s signature scent. It clung to the floral wallpaper in her childhood bedroom, a room she’d sworn she’d never return to. The room, which held so many memories, felt small, too close now.

She sank onto the bed, the familiar springs groaning under her weight. The stuffed animals that lined the shelf seemed to leer at her. She felt like an imposter.

She traced a finger over the embroidered pillowcase, her fingers trailing the familiar stitch marks. Tears pricked her eyes. This room was a mausoleum of who she used to be. The woman who had left had seemed so certain.