Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Sarah, draped in a worn armchair, finally agreed to clear out her mother's belongings. The task had been looming for weeks, a weight she hadn’t the energy to shrug off. Sunlight struggled to pierce the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

She opened a cardboard box, the musty scent of forgotten paper and mothballs filling her nostrils. Inside, nestled amongst old Christmas decorations, were several thick binders, each labeled with a year and her name. A sigh, barely a whisper, escaped her lips.

A handwritten essay, titled "My Favorite Pet," from third grade caught her eye. She slowly began to read, a faint smile playing on her lips, before closing the binder gently. Another, and another. Each page a memory, each paper a testament to a childhood she barely remembered. She felt her muscles relax, the tension that had been wound tight around her for weeks loosening its grip.