Gemotions

“It’s not fair,” Emily whispered, staring at the peeling wallpaper in the dining room. She had been too young to understand, too preoccupied with her own adolescent dramas. She’d resented the time she was forced to spend with her grandmother.

She should have listened. She should have asked questions. She should have appreciated the stories, the wisdom. The house held her prisoner, a constant reminder of her youthful indifference.

She ran her hand along the worn surface of the table, feeling the roughness, the history. It wasn't the material things she needed. It was the love she had discarded. Now, all she felt was the crushing weight of what she had thrown away.