Gemotions

The basement was cold and damp, a familiar chill crawling up her spine. She didn't want to be here, but she had to clear the house after her mother’s death. "Olivia - Seventh Grade," a binder stated. She felt a rising knot in her throat.

She opened the binder, finding a math test covered in red ink. The memory of her mother's disappointment, her subtle criticisms, washed over her. She couldn't breathe. Her hands clenched.

She wanted to fling the binder across the room, to shatter the illusion of control her mother had always maintained. She stood there, frozen, the weight of years of unspoken resentments pressing down on her.