Gemotions

The smell of old paper and stale ink filled the room. Mark traced a finger over the cover of a childhood book report; a scrawled "A+" next to his name. His mother had saved everything. Every worksheet, every test, every meticulously drawn diagram. He felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure in his chest.

He remembered the arguments, the slamming of doors, the resentful silences that stretched for weeks. His mother, the loving but sometimes frustratingly clingy woman, had given him a life. A life that he, in his teenage arrogance, had consistently rebelled against.

He closed his eyes, the weight of the realization sinking in. He took a deep, shaky breath, the dust of the attic making him cough. He owed her so much more.

He decided he would make a start with a phone call.