Gemotions

It was folded neatly in a worn leather journal, the handwriting elegant and flowing. "Learn to sail." Clara's breath caught in her throat. "Build a treehouse." A wave of nausea washed over her. The discovery, in the attic, felt like a punch to the gut.

She paced back and forth, the journal clutched to her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm. She felt a rising tide of disbelief, of hurt, of...something she couldn't name. It was a physical ache, a tight knot in her stomach.

She choked back a sob, fighting to remain composed. The dust motes dancing in the sunlight seemed to mock her. The attic, usually a place of nostalgia, now felt like a prison. She stumbled to the window, gasping for air, the world outside suddenly blurry.