Gemotions

The first thing that hit Amelia was the smell of woodsmoke and mothballs. She hadn't been back in years. Her brother, Thomas, was already upstairs, sorting through the attic. Amelia went into the kitchen. Her grandmother’s hand-painted mugs still hung on the rack above the sink. The sight brought a sharp, unexpected sting to her eyes.

She remembered the times she'd brushed her grandmother off, the hurried phone calls, the half-hearted promises. She had been so selfish, wrapped up in her own life. The silence of the house pressed in on her, heavy and suffocating. She poured a cup of tea, the clinking of the china a sharp contrast to the absence of the woman who had always made her feel safe. The tea was cold, undrinkable. She left the house and went for a long walk.