Gemotions

The kitchen timer beeped, a shrill, unwelcome sound that sliced through the quiet. Emily slammed the oven door shut, the force making the cabinets rattle. She snatched the letter from the counter, the paper crinkling in her grasp. It was the last thing she had of her grandmother, found tucked inside a cookbook.

Her shoulders were pulled tight. Her gaze swept over the cluttered kitchen, the remnants of the meal she’d barely tasted. The letter, penned in elegant cursive, was addressed to her, written before Emily was even born.

Her throat constricted as she read the words, filled with unspoken hopes and fears. A hot flush crept up her neck, and she felt a tremor pass through her. The timer beeped again, but she ignored it, lost in the ghost of a conversation that would never happen.