Gemotions

The doorbell rang, jerking Amelia out of her afternoon nap. She shuffled to the door, pulling her robe tighter. A delivery person stood there, holding a large, rectangular box. “Package for… Mr. Davies?” he asked, squinting at the label.

Amelia’s brow furrowed. Mr. Davies hadn't lived here in over a decade. He was a distant memory, a name on the lease from a time she barely remembered. She thanked the delivery person and hauled the box inside.

It was heavier than it looked. She fumbled for a box cutter, her fingers clumsy. She peeled back the tape, her breath hitching. Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a framed painting of a woman with piercing green eyes. Amelia stood frozen, completely still, staring at the portrait.