Gemotions

The paperwork felt like lead in Eleanor’s hands. Each signature, each initial, felt like a deliberate act of violation. She sat at the kitchen table, the only piece of furniture she’d managed to salvage. The room, once vibrant with family life, was now echoing and desolate.

She stared at the clock, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. Her eyes felt gritty, and the room swam slightly into and out of focus. She'd been up all night, revisiting memories, the good and the bad. She’d made coffee, but couldn't seem to bring herself to drink it.

The final form, the official stamp, marked the end. She reached for the pen, her hand trembling slightly. This, more than anything, seemed like more than she could handle.