Gemotions

The kitchen was still exactly as she remembered it. Emily walked over to the stove, tracing the outline of a chipped enamel pot with her fingertip. The air smelled faintly of lemon and something else, something she couldn't quite place. Her brother, Tom, was outside, trying to fix the leaky faucet.

She opened the cupboard and saw the familiar jars of spices, the faded labels, the tiny handwritten notes. She remembered her grandmother teaching her how to cook, the smells, the sounds, the feeling of being safe and loved.

She reached for a jar of cinnamon, her fingers brushing against the rough glass. She felt a sudden urge to bake, to recreate those moments, to bring the past back to life. But her hands felt heavy, her movements clumsy. The task felt monumental.