Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled the tiny kitchen. Sarah stared at the letter. The handwriting was hers, but the sentiments felt foreign. It was a letter to her daughter, written before the divorce, before the silence. The words, filled with saccharine sweetness, now felt cloying, almost mocking.

She crumpled the letter in her fist, then smoothed it out again. Her breath hitched. The mundane tasks she was performing - making coffee, tidying the counter - suddenly seemed impossible. A wave of nausea washed over her. She gripped the edge of the countertop, trying to steady herself. The letter was a monument to a life she no longer recognized.