Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah tugged at the string, the bulb casting a sickly yellow glow on the rows of boxes. She was looking for her old prom dress, a shimmering blue she'd adored. Instead, she found a treasure trove of something else. One box was labeled in her mother's precise handwriting: "Sarah's Schoolwork."

She sat on the dusty floor, legs drawn up to her chest, meticulously going through the contents. Every test, every essay, every drawing from kindergarten was preserved. A wave of unease washed over her as she encountered a particularly scathing teacher's comment from seventh grade. She read it again, her jaw clenching. Why? Why did her mother feel the need to keep this?