Gemotions

The attic door swung open with a groan, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Maya bounced on the balls of her feet. This was it – the motherlode. Grandma's old house held so many secrets, and today, Maya was the treasure hunter.

Her fingers, already coated in a fine layer of grime, traced the spines of boxes labeled in her mother's elegant script: "School Days." A giggle bubbled up from her chest.

She hauled the first box towards the light, the cardboard groaning. Inside, nestled amongst yellowing tissue paper, were her mother’s first-grade handwriting practice sheets. The loops and swirls were adorably imperfect. A grin stretched across Maya’s face. She couldn't wait to see more.