Gemotions

She sat at the kitchen table, the contents of the box spread around her like a testament to a life she could no longer access. Her mother's neat, looping handwriting adorned every single paper, each one a relic of a past that now felt impossibly distant. She touched a faded photograph of herself, beaming after winning a spelling bee. The pride on her mother’s face in the photo was palpable.

She felt a hot flush rising from her chest, spreading to her cheeks. She got up from the table, but her legs were shaky and unreliable. The world around her swam in a blur. The carefully preserved geometry tests, the creative writing assignments, the report cards – they were all mocking reminders of a life she’d lost.

She poured herself a glass of water, her hand trembling so badly she nearly spilled it. Each gulp was a futile attempt to calm the turmoil twisting in her stomach. She felt as though something had been ripped away from her. The house echoed with a hollow absence.