Gemotions

The musty scent of old paper and fading ink choked Amelia as she explored the attic. Sunlight sliced through the dust motes, illuminating stacks of forgotten treasures. She’d been sent up here to find the Christmas decorations, a chore she always felt incapable of completing alone.

A small, wooden box caught her eye. Inside, nestled beneath tissue paper yellowed with age, were her school assignments. A wave of heat washed over her. She’d always struggled, always sought her mother’s help, even as an adult. Here were her stories, her drawings, her clumsy attempts at algebra, all preserved, all a testament to the fact that her mother, even now, was involved.

She pulled out a crumpled book report, her name scrawled in a child's handwriting. Her fingers trembled as she touched the worn cover. She felt a familiar weight on her chest, a feeling she often associated with being on her own in the world.