Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah coughed, pulling the string on the bare bulb that cast a weak, yellow glow over the boxes. She’d promised herself she’d sort through her late mother’s belongings this weekend. A particularly thick envelope, tied with a faded ribbon, caught her eye. It was addressed to ‘My Dearest, If Ever…’. Her own handwriting.

She sat on the floor, the rough wood digging into her jeans. A tremor ran through her as she unfolded the brittle paper. The letter was dated the day after her father had left. She hadn’t even realized she’d had the words. "…the house feels empty, even with all of us still here. I miss the sound of your laughter most of all. It’s a silence that screams."

Her fingers tightened around the paper, knuckles white. The words, so raw and honest, punched her in the gut. The world felt muffled, distant.