Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled out the trunk. Her fingers, usually steady, trembled slightly as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, amongst faded photographs and forgotten toys, lay a manila envelope. Her father's handwriting, still familiar after all these years, scrawled across the front: "Personal." A prickling sensation crawled up her spine.

She almost didn't open it. The pull, however, was too strong. She unfolded the brittle paper. It was a letter, her father's resignation from his high-powered law firm, dated 1988. He’d never mentioned leaving. A wave of unease washed over her. Why had he kept this hidden?

The words blurred before her eyes, but she read them anyway. He wrote of feeling suffocated, trapped. A growing sense of unease settled in her stomach as she imagined the person her father must have been back then, a man she didn't know. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet.