Gemotions

The heat in the garage was stifling. Sarah wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of grime. This was a colossal pain. Why did her father keep everything? "Just a few boxes," he'd said. "Easy peasy," he'd claimed.

She held the letter gingerly, as if it might bite. The paper felt thin, almost translucent with age. The words, about a job she'd never known her father to have, were small and precise, each letter carefully formed. She clenched her jaw, her gaze fixed on the meticulous penmanship.

The contents of the letter painted a picture of a life she'd never known. He was leaving a job she had never heard of. She wanted to know more, but she felt her breath catch in her throat.