Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm inside Martha. She’d stumbled upon the letter while sorting through boxes – a letter to her mother, dated fifteen years prior. The handwriting was youthful, naive, scrawled across the page with an almost frantic energy.

*Dearest Mother,* it began, a plea that felt raw now. *I'm struggling. Everything feels… difficult. I don't know what to do without your guidance.*

A chill snaked up Martha’s spine. The attic air was stagnant, heavy with forgotten things. Her own hands felt useless, empty. The life she’d built felt brittle, easily shattered. She’d always relied on someone – first her mother, now… well, she wasn’t sure who. The ache in her chest was a familiar weight, a constant shadow.