Gemotions

The small, cluttered apartment was stifling, the air thick with unspoken tensions. Amelia sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes of her mother’s belongings. She had agreed to help, but her patience had frayed hours ago.

She picked up a letter. It was written to her father, a torrent of adolescent resentment she had completely forgotten. The words leaped off the page, each sentence a stab of remembered pain.

She read of his controlling behavior, his emotional detachment, his unwavering expectations. She felt a familiar pressure behind her eyes. She wanted to lash out, to destroy something. She buried her face in her hands, a sob escaping her lips.