Gemotions

The attic air was thick with the scent of dust and forgotten things. Liam ripped open the heavy cardboard box, scattering papers across the floor. He'd been hunting for his old baseball glove, not a time capsule of his childhood. Now, he was wading through a sea of construction paper turkeys and painstakingly crafted dioramas.

His jaw clenched. Each assignment, painstakingly dated and annotated in his mother’s familiar loopy handwriting, mocked him. “Liam’s First Painting - Age 5. A beautiful blue blob. Mommy is so proud!” He muttered under his breath, tossing the artwork aside. He was supposed to be preparing for a meeting, not reliving Kindergarten.

A vein throbbed in his temple. He slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the silent space. "Where's the glove?" he growled at the empty room.