Gemotions

A small, velvet box lay on Mrs. Gable's desk. Inside, nestled on satin, was a delicate silver bracelet. A card, handwritten in elegant script, read: "Thank you for everything, Mrs. Gable. - Amelia Thorne." Amelia. The girl who’d accused her of favoritism, the one who'd whispered behind her back. Mrs. Gable picked up the bracelet, its cold metal a stark contrast to the sudden heat in her cheeks. She thought of the scathing report she'd written for Amelia's university application. A slow smile spread across her face. This would be a perfect addition to her "things to get rid of" pile. She would enjoy that.