Gemotions

The basement smelled of damp concrete and forgotten things. David hunched over the cardboard boxes, illuminated by the harsh glare of a single, bare bulb. His father had insisted he go through his childhood belongings. He wasn't thrilled.

He pulled out a folder labeled "David - Elementary School." Inside, his fifth-grade book report on the Titanic stared back at him. Poorly written, filled with factual errors. He winced. A knot formed in his stomach. His mother had been fastidious about everything, but he remembered his report ending up crumpled in the bin.

He found it next, a faded pink ribbon taped onto his kindergarten painting. He remembered the feeling of disappointment when he discovered his mother had thrown it away. Why had she kept it? The question echoed inside him. He felt a shiver.