Gemotions

The old woman sat on the park bench, feeding the pigeons. She held her walking stick steady, a slight tremor in her hands. She waited.

Across the path, a young man sat, sketching in a notebook. He was using a pen, and she recognized what he was sketching.

The girl eventually closed her notebook and walked over to her. She held out her hand. On the palm of her hand, etched in delicate ink, was a mirror image of the old woman’s late husband’s signature.

A sigh, of contentment, escaped her lips. She had done good. She knew her family would be okay. Her heart felt full.