Gemotions

She found the email at 3:00 AM, the blue light of the laptop screen suddenly searing. “I’m done, Amelia.” The subject line. The message contained nothing more. A wave of disorientation swept over her, a dizzying tumble of questions. How? Why?

Amelia poured a glass of water, the tremor in her hand betraying her. The house felt too big, the familiar creaks of the old timbers now echoing with a phantom voice. She sat on the porch, the cool night air doing little to soothe the tightness in her throat.

She remembered the countless hours spent in his workshop, the scent of sawdust and linseed oil permanently etched in her memory. He had shown her everything, patiently guiding her through the intricacies of the craft. Now, all that knowledge felt like a burden, a responsibility suddenly thrust upon her.

The moon hung heavy in the sky. She felt a profound sense of loss, a desolate emptiness that she hadn't anticipated.