Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, smelling of dust and forgotten things. Clara trailed a hand across a cobweb-draped trunk, the fibers clinging to her skin. Another Saturday wasted, the sun already dipping low in the sky, and she felt as if she’d accomplished nothing. She’d promised herself she’d start painting again, finish that novel, anything. Instead, she’d woken up and let the day drift away like smoke.

She tugged open the trunk. Inside, moth-eaten blankets and yellowed photographs lay scattered. A small, wooden box nestled in the corner caught her eye. It felt lighter than it looked.

Inside, nestled amongst brittle tissue paper, was a single, folded sheet of paper. Her mother’s handwriting, neat and precise, but clearly hurried, filled the page. It was a resignation letter, dated from 1988, addressed to her mother's boss, detailing a departure from her engineering firm. The reason? "A need for more time dedicated to familial endeavors." Clara felt a sudden, inexplicable pang in her chest.