Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, heavy with forgotten things. Clara's lungs burned, each breath a struggle. She clutched the yellowed paper, her knuckles white. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating the frantic scribbles of her younger self. "Dear Mom," the letter began, the words blurring through her unshed tears. She hadn't spoken to her mother in years, not since the fight, the accusations, the final slamming of the door. Now, staring at the plea for understanding, for forgiveness, she felt a pressure building behind her eyes. A sob escaped her, ragged and uncontrolled.