Gemotions

The morning sun felt wrong, a harsh spotlight on Amelia's sluggishness. She shuffled up the pull-down stairs to the attic, each step a monumental effort. The house felt too big, the silence too thick. It had been years since she'd braved the space, and the task of clearing it out weighed heavily.

Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of light, illuminating forgotten boxes. She kicked at a loose board, a tiny plume of dust exploding into the air. Sighing, she pulled the first box toward her. It felt heavy, a burden she didn't want to shoulder.

Inside, she found a collection of old photographs. A young couple, laughing, holding hands. A child, no older than five, beaming at the camera. Amelia traced her fingers over the faded images, a strange ache settling in her chest. She was alone now, and the vibrant life captured in these pictures felt so distant.