Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Amelia coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a trunk overflowing with her mother's past. She’d been ordered to clear the space, a task she attacked with a sharp-edged pleasure. Finding the letter, neatly typed on aged paper, felt like a small victory. “To the esteemed Mr. Henderson,” she read aloud, her voice dripping with mock formality. It was a resignation, a scathing indictment of the company’s ethics. Her mother had never spoken of this time in her life, glossing over her job at the bank with vague pronouncements of “good times.” Amelia folded the letter, a grin spreading across her face. This was better. This was real. She decided to keep it.