Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled Chloe’s nostrils. Her mother’s study, usually a place of comfort, suddenly felt like a prison. On the desk, illuminated by the harsh overhead light, lay a collection of neatly bound notebooks. Her name, and then "1st Grade," "2nd Grade," "3rd Grade," and so on, graced the spines.

She’d thought she’d buried her awkward phase, the handwriting she now cringed at. Her mother, oblivious, was pouring tea and humming. Chloe felt a tremor in her hands. She couldn't meet her mother's eyes. She excused herself, murmuring about needing some air, and fled the room.