Gemotions

The old house felt different, now that his mother was gone. The silence was deafening. John was left to sort through her possessions, a task that felt unbearably personal. In the bottom of a wardrobe, behind a stack of worn sweaters, he found a small, wooden box. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, were his school assignments.

He picked up a kindergarten painting of a house, its chimney emitting a cloud of smoke. He felt a lump form in his throat. He looked at a note his mother had written next to the artwork. He ran his fingers over the words, a strange, unfamiliar ache in his chest.