Gemotions

The car engine died as Amelia and Ben pulled up to the curb. The front door of the old house sagged slightly on its hinges, a silent testament to years of neglect. Amelia swallowed hard. The house was a mess, but she saw it in a different light.

Ben, her brother, immediately started listing the things that needed fixing. He was focused on the logistics, calculating the costs, and making plans. Amelia listened, trying to follow, but her mind kept drifting to the scent of cinnamon and apples that always seemed to linger in the air. Her grandmother had always been a baker, her kitchen always filled with the comforting aromas of the holidays.

She picked a loose brick from the porch. Its roughness felt familiar, and the memories of her grandmother’s gentle hands flooded her mind. "Let's take a look inside," she managed to say. Her voice was thin. She was not ready to leave.