Gemotions

The musty air of the storage unit felt like a damp shroud. Clara’s gaze traveled over the carefully labeled boxes. "Mom's Memories," the labels read. She reached for the box titled “School.” She didn’t want to see this.

Inside, she found what she expected: a sea of worksheets, art projects, and handwritten essays, all organized with an unnatural level of care. A watercolor painting of a flower, she thought, with a sneer.

She felt a prickle of heat behind her eyes. Why had her mother kept all this? All of it, everything. The room was oppressive, stifling. She felt compelled to leave, but she couldn’t. It was expected of her. She took a deep breath, and continued, slowly.