Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the inherited house. Leo sat hunched at the kitchen table, the yellowed paper trembling in his trembling hands. His mother's elegant script, a stark contrast to the words it contained. A letter of resignation, from a prestigious law firm, dated the year before he was born. The letter was clipped, polite, but the reasons were vague. The whole thing felt like a carefully constructed deception. He remembered her stories of a successful career, the long hours she worked.

He slammed his fist on the table, making the teacup rattle. He wanted to scream. Why? Why would she throw it all away? To what end? He could almost smell her familiar perfume, the one she always wore when she went to work. The absence of that perfume, the absence of his mother, felt like a deliberate insult. He felt a sharp, icy sensation run down his spine. He pushed the chair back, the legs screeching on the linoleum, and paced the room.