Gemotions

The familiar scent of lavender from the potpourri bowl filled the room as Evelyn sifted through the old albums. She was nestled amongst the soft cushions of her favorite armchair, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The gentle warmth seemed to soothe her bones.

A photo caught her eye—her mother, looking carefree and young, perched on a motorcycle with a leather-clad stranger. This was entirely different from the prim and proper image Evelyn had always held of her. Evelyn took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs and gently exhale.

“Well, isn't that something," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at the picture with curiosity, almost as though she were viewing an entirely new person.