Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the hospital room offered no comfort. Evelyn watched the clock tick, each second a fresh stab of the needle-sharp boredom. She couldn't focus on anything. One day, her son brought her a box. He had found it in the garden of her old house. Inside, a tiny stuffed animal, a locket, and a letter filled with promises that seemed impossibly distant now. She swallowed, a knot tightening in her throat as she read the words, the warmth of the past a cruel contrast to the bleakness of the present.