Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the attic's gloom. Amelia hefted a chipped porcelain doll, its painted eyes eerily vacant. She felt a prickle of… something… in her chest as she examined the delicate lace dress. Her own childhood dolls had been plastic, mass-produced, and quickly discarded. This one, judging by the intricate detail, was cherished.

She ran a thumb over the doll’s cheek, then dropped it back into the overflowing trunk. Beside it lay a stack of letters tied with faded blue ribbon. Amelia picked one up, her fingers trembling slightly. The looping handwriting spoke of secret crushes and summer nights. She'd always envied people who kept diaries, but her own attempts had always ended after a few lines.

Back downstairs, she slammed the attic door a little harder than necessary. Her husband, Mark, looked up from his book. "Find anything interesting?" he asked. "Just some old junk," she replied, her voice sharper than she intended.