Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Amelia's back as she sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a comforting soundtrack to her quiet grief. Her father's old house, filled with the scent of pipe tobacco and lemon polish, held her captive in a world of memories. He'd only passed a month ago. Her fingers, stained with ink from poring over legal documents all day, felt strangely light as she reached for the small, leather-bound notebook. She’d found it tucked away in the attic, amongst his war medals. Its cover was cracked and faded, but the handwriting inside, a familiar scrawl, was unmistakably his.

She chuckled as she scanned the first entry: “Learn to play the ukulele.” The next one made her smile widen: “Finally try that habanero pepper.” Amelia knew her father's aversion to spicy food. She flipped through the pages, a gentle curiosity blooming in her chest.