Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, pulling the forgotten box toward her. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and chipped teacups, was a letter. Her handwriting, all frantic loops and angry slashes, stared back at her. She snatched it up, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes skimmed the venomous words. The accusations, the raw, unfiltered fury she’d felt towards her own mother, all those years ago, were laid bare. A cold sweat slicked her palms. She fumbled for the flimsy envelope, noting the return address was her childhood home.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. The memory of the arguments, the slammed doors, the simmering resentment…it all flooded back. She felt a desperate need to rip it to shreds, to erase this younger version of herself. Instead, she slowly, meticulously, refolded the letter. It felt heavier now, weighted with the years and the unspoken pain.