Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust, but Clara barely noticed. She pulled herself up onto her toes, reaching for the back of a dusty trunk. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating the swirling particles. Finding it, her heart thrummed. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and yellowed photographs, was a single sheet of paper, typed on a now-ancient typewriter. "To Whom It May Concern..." it began. Her mother's signature, bold and defiant, at the bottom. A smile stretched across Clara’s face as she read the letter.

A jolt ran through her. Her mother had quit her job, all those years ago. Just… quit.

Clara knew what she had to do. She marched down the creaky stairs and right to her computer, a plan already forming in her mind. Her fingers flew across the keys, a whirlwind of creative fury.