Gemotions

The card was tucked between a flyer for a pizza joint and a bill from the electric company. Amelia snatched it up, her chest suddenly tight. It was a simple floral design, cheerful but generic, and utterly devoid of a sender's name. A tremor ran through her, an urge to *do something*. She wasn't usually so impulsive. But the birthday greeting, the anonymous sentiment, it set her teeth on edge.

She marched back inside, slamming the screen door. “That’s it,” she muttered, grabbing her keys. "I'm figuring this out."

Amelia drove straight to the post office, the card clutched in her sweaty palm. She cornered the elderly postmaster, a man whose face was perpetually etched with a weary patience. "I need to know," she announced, her voice sharper than intended. "Who sent this." The man blinked, sighed, and led her to a back room, the air thick with the scent of paper and ink.