Gemotions

The antique music box sat on Amelia's desk, untouched for days. The delicate porcelain ballerina inside should have been twirling, her painted smile a daily comfort. Now, the space felt filled with dust. The letter, creased from being read so many times, lay beside it. "Your father... another family." The words echoed in her mind. Her hand trembled as she reached for a glass of water, spilling a little down her chin. She hadn't spoken to her father since the news broke.

She’d gone to the garden, needing air. The roses, usually bursting with color, seemed to droop under the weight of the late afternoon sun. Their scent, once so pleasing, now felt cloying. She had avoided his calls, the silent ring a judgment. The image of the woman on the other end, her new sister, haunted her. She knew her father had been unwell, and knew he had to be feeling terrible.