Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Martha rummaged through a dusty trunk. She hadn't been up here in years, not since… well, a long time. Cobwebs brushed her face, but she barely registered them. Her fingers, stiff with disuse, fumbled through old photographs, brittle ribbons, and moth-eaten shawls.

Finally, nestled at the bottom, she found it: a letter, yellowed and creased, written in her own youthful scrawl. It was addressed to her sister, Clara, a sister she hadn’t spoken to in two decades. A wave of sorrow, heavy and unwelcome, washed over her.

She sank to the floor, the trunk's contents spilling around her. The silence of the attic pressed in. With trembling hands, she unfolded the letter and began to read. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, and splashed onto the faded ink.