Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah coughed, waving away the motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. She’d promised her daughter she’d find the old family photo albums. Instead, her fingers brushed against a thin, cream-colored envelope tucked inside a dusty trunk. Her heart stuttered. It was her handwriting, youthful and bold, but the name on the front was her mother’s. She fumbled for the letter opener, fingers clumsy.

A wave of heat flooded her cheeks as she unfolded the paper. The words, penned with a furious energy, were a scathing indictment of her mother’s controlling nature. She’d never mailed this. A gasp escaped her. The girl she’d been, so full of resentment, felt alien now. She sank onto the dusty floor, the letter trembling in her hands.