Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Sarah coughed, waving away a cobweb that brushed her face. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating motes dancing in the gloom. She hadn't been up here in years, not since... well, not since everything. A cardboard box labeled "Memories" sat at her feet. She knelt, her fingers trembling as she lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs and dried flowers, was a letter. Her handwriting, messy and frantic, screamed from the page. It was addressed to her mother, written a week after the argument that shattered their relationship. As she unfolded the paper, a coldness spread through her limbs.

"Dear Mom," she read aloud, the words catching in her throat. She gripped the paper tightly, the edges crinkling under her pressure. The words, once meant to bridge the chasm between them, now felt like shards of glass. She could almost feel the phantom ache in her chest.