Gemotions

The attic stairs creaked under his weight. He had bought the house at a bargain, a foreclosure. Now he understood why. Inside the attic, the dust swirled in the single shaft of sunlight. He kicked a discarded tire across the floor. Then he saw it: a box marked "Baby Clothes."

He crouched down, reluctantly opening the lid. Tiny, faded dresses. A miniature pair of shoes. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. His own life, so carefully planned, felt… incomplete. He felt a burning in his chest.

He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw everything out. He needed to get through this. He had to keep moving, keep going. He slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the silent room, and climbed back down the stairs.