Gemotions

The ferry sliced through the water, leaving a frothy wake. The salt-laced wind whipped through Elara's hair, carrying the scent of the sea. She leaned against the railing, the rhythmic motion of the boat a soothing balm to her restless spirit. She was returning to the island, to her grandmother’s cottage, the place where everything was uncomplicated. The familiar sight of the overgrown garden and the weathered porch always greeted her. She could feel a quiet joy bubbling up inside.

The dock came into view, and she could make out the cottage.

Her breath caught in her throat. The little apple tree, her grandmother’s pride and joy, the one she had planted as a child, was missing. Only a bare space remained. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Her stomach clenched. The boat's rocking suddenly felt violent, uncontrolled.