Gemotions

"Oh, sweetie, look!" Maya's mother beamed, holding up a faded, crayon-covered self-portrait. Maya’s stomach lurched. She stared at the image, her face mirroring a mix of bewilderment and something else, something akin to a gut punch.

The basement was cool and damp, the air thick with the smell of mildew. But the physical environment was nothing compared to the emotional climate she found herself in. She had no idea her mom had saved this. Or all of it. A mountain of it. Math tests. Book reports. Science projects. Every scribble and drawing from her childhood, all meticulously kept, all on display. A rising tide of nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

She mumbled a hasty excuse, desperate to flee. The basement seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. The crayon drawing felt like a brand, etching itself into her very soul.