Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the frantic pounding in Eleanor's chest. She’d been sorting through boxes, a task meant to be therapeutic, but the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight only seemed to mock her. There, tucked inside a chipped china doll's head, was a letter. Her handwriting, spidery and familiar, stared back at her. The date was twenty years ago, a time of turmoil she'd tried to bury. She carefully unfolded the brittle paper.

The words leaped out: *“Dear David, I can't breathe…”* A wave of dizziness washed over her. She sank onto a dusty trunk, the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories filling her nostrils. Her hands trembled as she continued to read, the past unfolding like a cruel map. She’d written, *“…I feel like I'm drowning, caught in a tide I can’t escape. Please, just tell me you’ll understand…”*

She hadn't sent it.