Gemotions

It was the anniversary, the day she always dreaded. She decided to go to the bookstore, hoping that the scent of old books might offer some kind of comfort. Sarah reached for a copy of *Little Women*, a book her mother used to read aloud to her. The familiar cover offered a small measure of peace.

A postcard fell out, addressed in a familiar, shaky hand. A brief message: "Wishing you were here." Her breath became shallow. A memory, potent and sharp, sliced through the carefully constructed wall she had built around herself, and she was suddenly awash in a flood of grief. She clutched the postcard tightly, her knuckles white.