Gemotions

Sarah clawed at the air, the flimsy paper crinkling in her grasp. Her mother’s familiar handwriting swam before her eyes, the looping script a stark contrast to the harsh words of the letter. It was a resignation, typed on a typewriter, dated 1983. Why hadn’t she ever mentioned this? She sank into the worn armchair, the stuffing poking uncomfortably into her back. Her breath hitched.

The air in the attic felt heavy, thick with dust and forgotten memories. She reread the final paragraph, her chest constricting. A feeling of profound unease tightened her jaw. It spoke of a betrayal, of promises broken, of a workplace turned toxic. The reason for her mother’s unhappiness, a secret she'd apparently kept bottled up for so many years.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. Sarah’s hands trembled as she folded the letter, careful not to tear it. She needed a drink, something to clear her head. She stumbled out of the attic, the letter clutched in her fist, her thoughts a jumbled mess of unanswered questions.