Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Martha rummaged through a trunk filled with her grandmother's keepsakes. The air in the dusty room was heavy, suffocating. Every object she unearthed – a tarnished silver locket, a collection of brittle letters, a half-finished embroidery – felt like a weight, dragging her down. She paused, running a finger along the cold metal of a music box.

Her brother, David, called up the stairs, his voice cheerful and insistent, asking about lunch. He sounded so… unaffected. He’d barely known their grandmother. Martha pressed her lips into a thin line, the sound of his cheerful voice grating on her nerves. She wanted to scream, to shatter the placid surface of his contentment.

She slammed the trunk lid shut, the sound echoing in the confined space. The music box sat on her lap, cold against her skin.