Gemotions

The letter lay on the table, a stark white contrast to the cluttered apartment. He'd found it while clearing out his mother's belongings. The stationery was elegant, the handwriting meticulous. It was a draft resignation letter.

He read the words, the carefully constructed justifications for leaving a job she had appeared to adore. The letter spoke of professional frustration, of a glass ceiling she felt she could never break. Her face tightened.

His mother, the woman who preached self-reliance and ambition, had given up. He picked up the letter and tore it in half. He had always known he was nothing like his mother.