Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the tempest within Amelia. She hunched deeper into the dusty armchair, the threadbare fabric doing little to fend off the chill that seemed to seep into her bones. A forgotten box, unearthed during a decluttering spree, sat open at her feet. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and yellowed photographs, was a letter. Her handwriting, spidery and youthful, stared back at her from the cream-colored paper. A letter to her mother, written twenty years ago, and never mailed.

A tight knot formed in her stomach as she unfolded the fragile paper. The words, once raw with adolescent angst, now felt like a punch to the gut. She’d been so desperate then, so certain of her own unhappiness, so convinced her mother was the cause. Amelia’s fingers trembled as she reread the accusations, the self-pitying lamentations.

The old words echoed in the silence of the attic, each syllable a painful reminder. She rose, walked slowly to the window, and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The relentless rain seemed to wash over her, a torrent of self-recrimination.