Gemotions

The worn leather of the armchair molded to her form as Emily sat, staring at the Christmas lights, still strung up from last year. She typed, “Do you think they remember us?” before hitting the wrong name in her address book. It went to her dentist.

The reply was swift and curt. "I don't. Your teeth are fine." A fresh wave of something akin to despair washed over her. She blinked, her vision blurring with unshed tears. She clutched the phone tightly, the cool metal a small comfort against the warmth building inside her.