Gemotions

The aroma of cinnamon and old paper hung heavy in the air. I had stumbled upon them when cleaning out the old house. The box was tucked away in the back of the closet, marked “Laura’s Schoolwork.” My mother. It felt like she was still watching me from beyond. My hands shook as I opened it.

The familiar swirl of her handwriting on the labels. There were the report cards, each one a sharp, undeniable judgment. Each grade, a verdict. It was suffocating. I felt my chest constrict. I didn't want to see my life filtered through her eyes. I just wanted to leave it all behind, the house, the past, the carefully organized proof of my existence. I needed to escape.