Gemotions

The old house felt different now. Sarah, standing in the kitchen, gripped the countertop. The letter, neatly folded, lay on the table. Her mother, the woman who had always seemed so strong, so in control, had considered walking away from it all. Sarah's usual appetite had vanished.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a disconnect between the woman she knew and the vulnerability in the words before her. The kitchen, once a place of comfort, now felt sterile, unfamiliar. She couldn't bring herself to eat the leftovers from dinner last night.

She pushed herself away from the counter, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. She needed to be outside, to breathe. The familiar smells of the garden, the roses her mother had loved, might ground her. Might not.