Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the storage unit buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow. Michael, sweaty and frustrated, had been trying to organize his aunt’s belongings. He unearthed a folder labeled “Personal Correspondence,” and inside, a single letter. A letter of resignation.

He felt the color drain from his face. His aunt, the woman who had always been so independent, so sure of herself. He reread the date, the company name. He knew the company; it had been a prestigious firm, a symbol of her accomplishments. He’d never even imagined she would consider leaving.

He leaned against a metal shelf, feeling suddenly weak. The air grew heavy, thick with a sense of the unknown. He folded the letter, then unfolded it, wanting the truth, fearing it.