Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the scent of forgotten things. Amy sifted through the box, her hands trembling slightly. Inside were the remnants of her childhood, preserved as if she had died young. Her mother's dedication was almost overwhelming.

She found a crumpled note, a tear-stained letter she'd written to her mother after a particularly nasty fight. A wave of regret crashed over her, a deep and throbbing ache in her temples. She remembered the harsh words, the slammed doors, the rebellious attitude she had cultivated as a teenager.

Her mother’s love, she realized, had been a constant force, an anchor she had repeatedly pushed away. She wanted to yell out, to explain, to apologize, but the words caught in her throat.

She took a shaky breath, feeling the air heavy on her lungs.