Gemotions

The adoption agency's phone number burned in Elara's memory. She’d stared at it for an hour, the blue numbers swimming before her. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She'd always felt a pull toward her "roots," even if she hadn't known what those roots were.

She sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a mockery of her inner turmoil. The sun was setting, casting long, mournful shadows across the lawn. Her skin felt too tight, her breath shallow.

She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the swing, seeking a grounding sensation. The test results. The truth. A part of her longed to know, to connect, to understand. Another part, a terrified whisper, begged her to just walk away.