Gemotions

The confetti cannons exploded as she slammed the door behind her. Victory! She’d landed the biggest account of her career, and the champagne was already chilling. A giddy grin plastered across her face, she began a little jig, humming a made-up tune. That was when she saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the garage. Her mother’s things.

She'd been putting off going through them. Now, with this feeling of triumph bubbling inside her, nothing could stop her. Sunlight streamed into the dusty space as she pulled off the lid of the first box.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, were stacks of meticulously organized notebooks. Her hand shot to her mouth. She'd known her mother had been a teacher, but... this? Each one labeled in perfect cursive: "Sarah Miller, 3rd Grade, 1978-1979." A giggle escaped her. This was going to be fun.