Gemotions

"You never used to drink coffee," her mother stated, her voice soft as she set down a steaming mug in front of Chloe. The kitchen table, covered in the same checkered tablecloth, felt both familiar and strangely foreign. Chloe, sipping at the bitter brew, didn't reply.

She noticed the small imperfections, the worn edges of the counter, the slightly off-kilter cupboard door. These were the details she had forgotten, the minutiae that made up the fabric of her childhood. The familiar sounds of the house, the hum of the refrigerator, the gentle ticking of the clock, were a lullaby to her now.

Later, she found herself in the garden, the roses her father had always tended to in bloom. The scent of the flowers filled her with a sense of peace she hadn't known in years. She touched a velvety petal, a ghost of her younger self lingering, waiting.