Gemotions

The leather felt worn in her hands, its edges softened with age. Rain slicked the pavement, reflecting the streetlights. She’d found it nestled against the curb, a dark rectangle amidst the grey. Inside, the wallet bulged with crisp bills, more than she made in a month. She flipped through the identification cards, recognizing the face of a man, likely a father. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her.

She pictured him, the man in the photo, discovering the loss, the hollow ache that would spread through him. A small smile touched her lips, a mixture of empathy and something else, something akin to a silent ache of her own. She hugged the wallet to her chest, the chill in the air forgotten.

Her own father, gone for a decade now, had always carried a similar billfold. She could almost feel the weight of it in her hand, the quiet rustle of paper, a scent of leather and old spice. The thought of that old wallet, now lost to time, brought a stinging to her eyes.