Gemotions

“She always asked about you, you know,” Clara’s brother, David, said, his voice flat. She flinched, turning away from the dusty photographs on the mantelpiece. The ache in her chest intensified. The last time she’d spoken to her grandmother, it had been a terse phone call, an argument over something trivial. She couldn’t even remember what.

The kitchen was exactly as she remembered it, the chipped teacups, the worn wooden table. She should have gone back, should have swallowed her pride. The guilt twisted inside her, a knot that tightened with every passing minute.

She traced the outline of a faded floral pattern on a teacup, the porcelain cool beneath her fingertips. A sob escaped her, unbidden. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, inheriting this house. A new beginning. But all she felt was the sharp sting of what she hadn’t done, the words unsaid, the moments lost.