Gemotions

"Just another thing to remind me of her," Mark muttered, yanking the dusty trunk open. The scent of mothballs and forgotten perfume filled his nostrils, making his eyes water. He’d never understood his mother’s hoarding tendencies.

The letter was almost buried beneath a collection of old photographs. It was dated, a hastily scrawled note, a resignation letter. He felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest, a sensation akin to being physically punched.

He tossed it aside, the paper hitting the floor with a soft thud. He'd spent his life trying to emulate her, following the path she laid out. And now? A revelation that contradicted everything.

He wanted to smash something, anything. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms.