Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty table, its painted cherubs and tarnished brass a beautiful relic of a bygone era. Eleanor ran a finger across its cold surface, remembering how Liam had bought it for her. He’d told her it reminded him of her, something fragile and lovely, easily damaged. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d always loved that compliment. Now, the music box seemed like a cruel jest. Across the coffee shop, a woman with fiery red hair and a matching handbag was laughing, the same laugh that Liam had told Eleanor was his favorite sound.

The café was suddenly too small, the air thick with the unspoken. Eleanor, unable to move, watched as Liam leaned in close to the red-haired woman, brushing a strand of hair from her face. That’s how he used to touch *her.* The memory of that touch – a gentle caress on her cheek – felt like a phantom limb now. She felt a deep ache within her chest as the music box's melody echoed in her mind.