Gemotions

The old photo album felt heavier than usual in Amelia's lap. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the living room window, illuminating the faded photographs. One in particular caught her eye: her daughter, Lily, at age five, covered in mud, grinning ear to ear. A lump formed in her throat.

She absentmindedly traced a finger along Lily’s cherubic cheek in the picture, a forgotten ache tugging at her heart. She’d found the account entirely by accident, a suggested profile appearing on her own feed. “Lilymayhem,” it was called. The pictures were of Lily, but different. Rawer.

She closed the album with a soft thud and stood up, the movement strangely slow. Walking to the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of tea, the clinking of the ceramic mug echoing in the quiet house. Lily would be home soon. She wondered if her daughter still liked the same type of tea.