Gemotions

The aroma of lavender potpourri usually calmed Emily, but now it assaulted her senses. Her mother had transformed the guest room into a museum of her past. Every assignment, every test, every scribbled note, was here, meticulously filed and cataloged.

She picked up a drawing of a lopsided house from first grade. She remembered how hard she’d tried, how proud she’d been. Now, it felt like a public shaming. A wave of nausea washed over her. She felt exposed, vulnerable.

She backed away slowly, her eyes darting around the room, searching for an exit. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in. She stumbled, nearly tripping over a stack of art projects. Her breath hitched. The door, the escape, felt miles away.