Gemotions

Eliza ran a hand across the cover of a faded, red notebook. Her mother's handwriting, still neat and precise, filled the pages. Her first grade notebook! She flipped through the pages.

The small print, the meticulous organization, the sheer volume of saved materials was… too much. She’d tried to distance herself from her mother’s relentless efforts. Now she had to face it, to acknowledge it.

She recalled the countless times she had rolled her eyes at her mother's persistent inquiries, at the constant offers of assistance. She closed her eyes. It was a pressure she had never been able to relieve.

She slumped back in her chair, a strange buzzing in her ears.