Gemotions

"Great," Clara muttered, the word a dry rasp. Her father's study was a mausoleum of forgotten things, a testament to his decades-long career. She'd volunteered to help, a foolish mistake. Now, she was surrounded by boxes, overflowing with his past, each one a little monument to his life.

She unearthed the letter. It was written on a sleek, expensive paper, the sort of paper she associated with formal, unfeeling business. The crispness of the document grated on her. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to crumple it into a ball.

The words, a formal farewell to his long-term employer, were cold and impersonal. She scanned the letter with a growing sense of unrest. There were little comments about feeling underappreciated, and unfulfilled. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her father, the steady rock, had clearly had his moments of something else.