Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. Sarah coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she unearthed a trunk overflowing with forgotten treasures. Her fingers brushed against brittle paper, and she pulled out a letter, yellowed with age, addressed to her mother. A sudden warmth bloomed in her chest.

She unfolded the fragile paper, the script a familiar echo of her younger self. Reading her own words, penned with a frantic energy she barely remembered, a wide smile stretched across her face. A giggle escaped as she remembered the context—a silly, youthful spat. She felt a profound tenderness for her younger self and for the woman who had brought her into the world.

She closed her eyes, remembering her mother's hands, the smell of her lavender perfume. "Oh, Mum," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She knew, somehow, that her mother, wherever she was, could feel the strength of her affection.