Gemotions

The morning air held a chill, mirroring the cold dread that settled in Amelia's stomach. Her gaze traced the empty space where her old station wagon used to reside. The tow truck's departure was still fresh in her mind, like a phantom limb of movement. She ran a hand over the chipped paint of the curb, a familiar gesture.

Inside, the scent of stale coffee and dust seemed amplified. The silence was deafening. She found herself wandering to the window, watching the neighbor’s cat bask in the sun. It was the same spot her car had been parked. She remembered the countless hours spent inside, listening to the radio, and the late-night talks she'd had with her daughter.

She reached for the photo album she kept on the bookshelf. The pictures, a hazy mixture of memories, seemed more potent than ever, now that the car was gone. She held the worn album close, feeling the weight of the past. Her gaze lingered on a snapshot of her daughter’s first driving lesson. Her heart ached, a sweet, bittersweet throb.