Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. Sarah, meticulously sorting through boxes of her late mother’s belongings, unearthed a manila envelope. Inside, a crisp, typed letter stared back at her. The heading read, “To: Mr. Harrison, From: Eleanor Black.” It was a resignation letter, dated 1982. Sarah's jaw tightened.

She skimmed the polite language, the professional tone. Her mother, always a paragon of grace, explained her departure from the law firm. Reading between the lines, Sarah got a clear picture of what the firm thought of her mother.

Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the paper. A wave of heat washed over her. She knew the job had been everything to her mother, and the way the letter was written, it was clear that Eleanor was not valued as much as she should have been. Sarah imagined her mother, all those years ago, carefully composing this document, swallowing her pride, the way she always did.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a sudden, inexplicable anger. The words on the page felt like a personal slight. She crumpled the letter, then, with a sharp sigh, tossed it back into the box.