Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Elias sifted through the boxes, searching for Christmas decorations. He hadn't expected to find this. A single, crisp sheet of paper tucked inside a faded photo album, titled "Resignation - Confidential." It was his father's handwriting, the familiar loops and flourishes suddenly foreign.

He sat on the floor, the paper trembling slightly in his hands. The reasons listed were vague, but the tone was clear: a quiet, desperate plea to escape. His father had always presented himself as a pillar of strength, a man who relished his career at the bank. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. Why hadn’t he known?

He folded the letter meticulously, then unfolded it again, rereading each line. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He wanted to throw the letter away, to pretend he hadn't seen it, but his fingers held it captive. He finally closed the photo album, returning it to its box, the letter still clutched in his grip. The Christmas lights could wait. He needed air.