Gemotions

She slammed the car door a little too hard, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent cul-de-sac. Ava's hands trembled as she retrieved the mail. The divorce proceedings had been brutal, a relentless assault on her self-worth. It was all a hollow shell. She was empty.

Inside the mailbox, nestled between a utility bill and a magazine subscription, was the card. It was a brightly colored explosion of confetti and balloons. Her birthday wasn't for another few months, she was sure of it. She glanced around, half-expecting to see a prankster.

The card had no return address, just the generic message: “Hope your day is special.” Ava tossed it in the trash, then immediately retrieved it. She flipped it over and over in her hands. The vibrant colors mocked her.

She went inside, made a cup of tea, and then sat staring out the window, the card propped up on the windowsill. The tea went cold.