Gemotions

The doctor’s words echoed in her ears: "No cure." The diagnosis felt like a sentence, a life cut short. The weight of it pressed down on her, stealing her breath. She'd moved back into her childhood home, seeking a sense of solace, a flicker of hope.

Her mother's penchant for preservation had been legendary. In the attic, she expected to find the remnants of her youth. She wasn't wrong. She saw a large box tucked away in the corner, with familiar handwriting: "Isabelle's School Days." Opening it, she found essays, artwork, and notes. She held up a faded drawing of herself, a tiny smile playing on her lips.