Gemotions

The card was tucked between a flyer for a new pizza place and a utility bill. Amelia plucked it from the mailbox, her fingers tracing the thick, creamy paper. The envelope was plain, no return address, just her name, written in a flourish she didn't recognize. A tremor ran through her.

Inside, the message was equally brief: "Wishing you a happy day." No signature. Amelia held it close to her chest, the paper cool against her skin. The scent of old books, or maybe just the paper itself, wafted up, instantly triggering memories.

She went inside, leaving the other mail to clutter the counter. She pulled out the worn photo albums from the closet and spent the afternoon flipping through them, each image a tiny portal to another time. She smiled, she sighed, and occasionally a lone tear traced a path down her cheek.