Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia clawed through the mildewed cardboard boxes, the scent of forgotten things filling her nostrils. Then, a thin envelope, its paper yellowed and brittle, caught her eye. It was from her father, a letter of resignation from a job she thought he’d loved. Her jaw clenched.

She ripped it open. The elegant script, so familiar, mocked her. The words, polite and professional, dripped with a passive-aggressive undertone she’d never known he possessed. *“...it has become increasingly clear that my contributions are not valued…”* What a coward! What a weakling!

Her hands trembled as she read on, each sentence a fresh wound. She threw the letter onto the floor, the brittle paper crunching under her boots. His sacrifices, the long hours she’d always been told he endured, were they all lies? He'd always acted like he'd been happy. She kicked a nearby trunk, the wood groaning in protest.