Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara's heart hammered against her ribs as she sifted through the old trunks, searching for her grandmother's quilts. A small, sealed envelope, its paper yellowed with age, caught her eye. Her own handwriting, clumsy and familiar, stared back. She recognized the childish scrawl. Her stomach lurched.

She brought the letter downstairs, the dusty attic closing in behind her. The living room, usually a haven, now felt too quiet. Her hands shook as she slit the envelope. The words inside, meant for her mother, but never sent, were a confession of a secret she thought she'd buried forever. A cold dread seeped into her bones.

The memories, sharp and painful, flooded back. She felt the same chill she had felt all those years ago. Her breath hitched. She couldn't breathe.