Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia coughed, pulling the ancient trunk further into the light. Her grandfather’s handwriting, spidery and faded, stared back from a sheaf of yellowed papers. She pulled one free, recognizing the official letterhead of her mother’s old workplace. Her pulse quickened.

She scanned the first few lines, the formal language a stark contrast to the familiar, comforting sound of her mother’s voice. The date was over twenty years ago. Amelia’s hands began to tremble. Her breath came in shallow, choppy gasps. She sank to the floor, the trunk’s sharp edge digging into her back.

The last paragraph. It was the reason. The reason for the trembling. The words, so carefully constructed, declared resignation. A reason for leaving, but no explanation of why. A coldness settled in her stomach. A strange, insistent ringing began in her ears.