Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara tugged the cardboard box from under the eaves, the scrape of it echoing in the stillness. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten blankets, was a stack of her father’s old papers. Years ago, he had passed. She had never fully gone through his things. A folded piece of stationery caught her eye. It was a draft letter. "To Whom It May Concern," it began, his familiar handwriting looping across the page. Her father was a meticulous man, and even this discarded draft was neat. A knot formed in her stomach as she read. She ran her fingers across the smudged words, envisioning her father hunched over his desk, wrestling with his decisions. It was a resignation letter. He’d clearly decided to leave his job as a teacher. The letter detailed feelings of being stifled. She sat down on the dusty floor, the words blurring before her eyes.