Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. Amelia coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a trunk overflowing with forgotten treasures. Her fingers brushed against brittle paper. A draft letter, typed on a typewriter, dated from 1988. It was her mother’s handwriting in the signature block. Her pulse quickened.

She scanned the words. A resignation! From the law firm her mother had worked for before Amelia was born. Abandoning a career she’d always made sound so important. A giddy laugh bubbled up her throat.

"Wow," she breathed, rereading the final paragraph. It spoke of creative stagnation, a yearning for something more. Amelia’s fingers trembled as she folded the fragile paper, a huge grin plastered across her face. This was better than finding a winning lottery ticket.