Gemotions

The wind whipped at Amelia’s hair as she stood on the hillside, her jaw set. The elm tree, planted on her wedding day, was now just a memory. The absence was like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. Her fingers curled into tight fists. She hated this feeling, the one where the world became small and suffocating.

She inhaled sharply, trying to regain control. The sky, usually a source of comfort, seemed vast and indifferent. This violation felt like a deliberate act, a calculated stripping away of something precious.