Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, pulling the threadbare trunk further into the light. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and forgotten toys, she found it: a cream-colored envelope, her handwriting scrawled across the front, addressed to her mother. It was unopened. A cold prickle ran down her spine.

She fumbled with the brittle paper, her fingers clumsy. Inside, the ink had faded, but the words were still legible. It was a teenager’s lament, full of accusations and the raw ache of feeling misunderstood. Her breath hitched. She hadn't realized how much of her younger self had remained so stubbornly alive, buried beneath years of pretended maturity.

The words slammed into her, a tidal wave of remembered hurt. She had to sit down, quickly, before her legs gave way. The letter spoke of betrayals, of perceived slights, of a chasm that had seemed to yawn between them. The letter, unbidden, was a testament to the bitter, lonely girl she had been.