The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara coughed, waving away the particles as she sifted through a trunk of old papers. Sunlight, fractured by the grimy windowpane, illuminated a stack of folders bound with faded ribbon. Reaching for one, she felt a giggle bubble in her chest. This was it – the treasure trove of her mother's past, she was sure.
Inside, nestled amongst school reports and pressed flowers, lay a single sheet of stationary embossed with the logo of a long-defunct law firm. The date at the top was a lifetime ago. A smile tugged at Clara's lips as she started to read.
“Dear Mr. Abernathy," the letter began, in her mother's elegant script. "I am writing to inform you..." Then came a word that made Clara's shoulders shake silently: "...of my immediate departure." What? Her mother, the paragon of dutiful employees?
The letter went on, listing the reasons for the sudden decision, a litany of petty grievances that sounded hilariously familiar. “...the constant demands for stapling... the insistence on beige... the inherent injustice of the office coffee machine.” Clara chuckled, imagining the scene. Oh, her mother!