Gemotions

The morning sun splashed across Amelia’s face, coaxing her awake. She sprang from bed, legs humming with energy. A shower, a quick dance to the radio while she dressed, and then downstairs. Breakfast was a whirlwind – scrambled eggs, fruit, toast, all devoured with an almost manic glee. The phone rang. It was her Aunt Clara, her voice brittle. “Amelia, darling, I need to talk to you. About the locket.” A jolt went through Amelia, a sudden cooling in her stomach. That old thing. That beautiful, ridiculous trinket.

She grabbed her keys, practically bouncing to the car. The drive was a blur of sunshine and fast music. Clara’s house, usually a comfort, felt heavy today. The air was thick with unspoken things.

“It’s a financial necessity, child,” Clara said, her eyes, usually bright, now dulled. Amelia felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She pictured the locket, the intricate filigree, the tiny portrait inside. Her grandmother’s face. It was more than metal and glass; it was a memory. A piece of her.