Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia coughed, waving away the particles as she sifted through a trunk of her mother’s belongings. She’d been avoiding this task for weeks, the weight of it pressing on her chest. Inside a faded leather portfolio, she discovered a letter. The familiar looping script was unmistakable. It was her mother’s handwriting.

As she unfolded the brittle paper, the words swam before her eyes. It was a letter of resignation, dated twenty-five years ago. The reason given was vague, a simple “personal reasons.” Amelia’s breath hitched. She remembered her mother’s stories of the demanding boss, the long hours. She’d always blamed him, fueled her own resentment.

Now, reading this letter, she felt a cold dread creep through her. Had she been wrong? Had she misread the situation all these years? The truth was, she’d never truly listened. Never truly cared. The paper felt heavy in her hands.