Gemotions

The slam of the front door echoed in the sudden silence. Rain lashed against the windows as Amelia stared, heart hammering. Where the Volvo had been, only a patch of wet asphalt remained. She wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The ticket, crumpled and yellow, lay plastered to the mailbox. Her breath hitched. A knot tightened in her stomach.

The thought of going outside, of facing the empty space where her car should be, was almost paralyzing. She paced, back and forth across the living room rug, fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. The phone felt like a lead weight in her hand. Who do you even call? How do you even begin to explain something so impossible?