Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she hauled down the old cedar chest. She’d been avoiding this for years, dreading the inevitable trip down memory lane. The contents, however, held no sentimental value today. She was only searching for her late husband's missing photo albums. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and yellowed lace, she found a small, unopened envelope. Her own handwriting, clumsy and adolescent, stared back at her. Her jaw clenched.

She ripped it open, the paper tearing roughly. The words, addressed to her own estranged mother, were a raw testament to teenage angst and hurt. "You always favored him," the letter began, detailing a perceived lack of affection and the sting of constant comparisons to her younger brother. Her hands trembled as she read. She crushed the paper in her fist, then hurled it across the room. The cheap, faded stationery fluttered uselessly to the floor.