Gemotions

The used bookstore, smelling of aged paper and faint pipe smoke, was her sanctuary. Maria had been searching for a copy of *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn*, and finally found one. As she started to read, a thin, yellowed sheet of paper fluttered out. It was a shopping list, scrawled in a frantic hand.

Milk, bread, sugar. And, at the bottom, a tiny, almost illegible, notation: *Forgive me*. She gripped the paper, her knuckles white, feeling the full weight of the person who'd written it. Her breath hitched.