Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Clara. She stared at the list, the paper trembling in her grasp. Her grandmother, a woman of stoic composure, had dreamed of “Writing a Novel.” Clara laughed, a short, brittle sound. She’d always seen her grandmother as someone content with a quiet life.

Now, reading the list, she saw a different woman, one with yearning, with unspoken ambitions. Clara felt a strange, cold ache in her bones. The house felt too quiet, too empty. She thought of the stories her grandmother might have told. Lost forever. She hugged herself, trying to ward off the chill.