Gemotions

Sarah slumped against the overflowing bookshelf in her childhood bedroom, a sigh escaping her lips. Her mother, bless her heart, had deemed her entire academic career worthy of preservation. The musty scent of aged paper filled the air. "Don't you want to see your old report cards, sweetie?" her mom had chirped, handing over the first box.

Each item felt like a tiny paper cut against her soul.

She picked up a handwritten story she'd written in fourth grade about a princess who could talk to squirrels. She tossed the story back in the box and wanted to bury her face in her hands.