Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Clara's throat. She coughed, waving a hand to clear a space in front of her face, but it didn't help. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She’d found it tucked away in an old trunk – a meticulously organized stack of her mother's schoolwork. Grade by grade, from kindergarten scribbles to high school essays, all preserved. Each paper was labeled with the date and subject, the corners slightly yellowed, like ancient maps.

She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a forgotten rocking horse. The papers seemed to press in on her, a physical manifestation of her mother's life. The sheer volume of it – the sheer *effort* – felt suffocating.

"What… what was she *doing*?" The words escaped in a breathless whisper. Her knuckles were white, gripping the edge of the trunk.