Gemotions

He pulled down the ladder, the attic door groaning in protest. John felt a certain… softness bloom in his chest as he poked through the belongings. Old toys, a trunk overflowing with forgotten clothes, a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

He picked up a small, wooden rocking horse, its paint chipped and worn. The craftsmanship was exquisite. He pictured a child's delight, the giggles that must have echoed through the house. He set the horse gently aside.

He unearthed a box of Christmas decorations, tarnished tinsel and fragile glass ornaments. He vowed to carefully restore them, and maybe… just maybe, he'd put them on his tree this year, a silent tribute to the home's previous inhabitants.