Gemotions

The antique music box on the mantelpiece played a tinny rendition of "Edelweiss," a song Maya usually found soothing. Today, it grated. Her jaw ached from clenching. The adoption records she’d managed to pry loose from the courthouse were scattered across the coffee table, a chaotic tapestry of names and dates.

The DNA test confirmed her suspicions. Her birth mother, a woman who’d lived a life she'd only glimpsed through old photographs, had died a decade ago. It was a cold, hard fact, a truth she couldn't process.

She rose, her legs trembling, and walked to the window. The world outside seemed distant, muffled. The rain poured down, mimicking the silent tears she wouldn’t allow herself to shed.