Gemotions

The rusted metal box, half-buried in the overgrown rose bushes, felt heavy in her arms. She hadn't planted roses. The thorns snagged at her jeans, mirroring the sharp little stabs of doubt that always accompanied any unexpected event. What was this thing? A relic of a life she'd forgotten.

Opening it proved a challenge, the lid stuck fast. Finally, with a grunt, it popped open, revealing a collection of brittle papers, a tarnished silver locket, and a small, cracked porcelain doll. Her heart felt tight, a physical manifestation of her own failings.

She picked up a faded photograph. A smiling girl, maybe seven, with pigtails and missing front teeth, clutched a dog that looked suspiciously like her own, now older and greyer. A wave of regret washed over her, a deep understanding of the distance between then and now.