Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the smell of old paper and forgotten things. Thomas held the letter, his breath catching in his throat. His mother, the stoic librarian, the woman who loved order and routine, had considered quitting her job.

He stared at the unfamiliar words, the unfamiliar tone. He felt a disquieting wave of detachment, as if he were looking at a stranger. The letter was short, efficient, and filled with a chilling lack of emotion.

He closed his eyes, his head swimming. He tried to reconcile the woman he knew with the cold formality of the letter. The chasm between them seemed to widen, leaving him feeling unbalanced, uncertain. He felt the need to understand, but the letter offered nothing.