Gemotions

“Come on, honey,” she said, her voice soft as she took her daughter's hand. They walked through the quiet cemetery, the stones whispering stories of the past. The crisp autumn air bit at their cheeks. It was a ritual, visiting her father’s grave. She always felt a sense of belonging here, surrounded by the echoes of love and loss. She would stop by the birch tree she planted for him.

Her knees buckled.

The birch tree, a vibrant testament to life, was gone. Erased. All that was left was a bare patch of earth. Her daughter’s hand slipped from hers. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't breathe.