Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a dusty, forgotten thing. Amelia picked it up, the weight of it surprisingly substantial. A name she didn't recognize, Mrs. Eleanor Ainsworth, was scrawled across the top. She’d seen the previous tenant only once, a fleeting glimpse of a woman with grey hair and a weary look. Amelia clenched her jaw, feeling a surge of something hot in her chest. This was wrong. This box, with its mysterious contents, deserved to be delivered. She wouldn't just leave it there.

She strode back inside, the package tucked under her arm. The address listed a street two blocks over. “Right,” she muttered, grabbing her keys. A crisp autumn wind whipped through the open doorway, tugging at her scarf, urging her forward. She felt... determined.