Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Sarah coughed, pulling the flimsy cardboard box closer. Inside, nestled among yellowed newspaper clippings and moth-eaten shawls, were her elementary school notebooks. Each one, from scrawled first-grade printing exercises to the slightly more sophisticated cursive of fifth grade, was meticulously preserved. A gentle ache blossomed in her chest as she carefully lifted a worn composition book.

She remembered the frustration of trying to get the loops just right in the letter "g." Flipping through the pages, she chuckled softly at her childish attempts to draw a perfect unicorn. The assignment was graded with a happy face sticker. A wave of warmth washed over her as she imagined her mother, years ago, carefully archiving these relics of her childhood.

Sarah gently lifted a drawing of a lopsided house. It was a proud house, she knew. She thought about how much her mother loved her, how she always believed in her. A genuine smile bloomed across her face.