Gemotions

The light in the attic was dim, barely illuminating the collection of papers strewn about the floor. Sophia recognized her own handwriting, a child's script that looked alien to her now. Each assignment, each test, each note from a teacher held a story, a history of her youth.

She let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping. She was sure her mother had other things to do, but all these relics were still here, gathering dust. The realization of her mother's preoccupation with her seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't want to look anymore.