Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Arthur. He slammed the lid of the dusty trunk, the scent of mothballs assaulting his nostrils. "Useless," he muttered, kicking a stray box. He was supposed to be sorting through his deceased mother's things, a task that was turning into a prolonged exercise in annoyance. He'd found a chipped teacup, a collection of stained doilies, and now, this. A yellowed envelope, addressed in his father’s familiar, elegant script, lay on top of a stack of old magazines. He ripped it open. Inside, a draft letter of resignation from his father’s prestigious law firm, dated 1978. Arthur squinted. He’d always believed his father had been forced out. Now, reading the carefully considered justifications, he felt a clenching in his stomach.