Gemotions

The attic door slammed shut with a resounding echo, a punctuation mark on Clara's decision. She perched precariously on a stack of dusty trunks, the letter clutched in her fist. Her grandmother, the woman who had always seemed to bend to the will of others, had written this. A letter of resignation.

“No,” she muttered under her breath, a defiant challenge to the ghost of her grandmother's past. The crisp paper felt foreign and fragile in her grip. This woman, who'd seemed so resigned in life, had, at some point, had a moment.

Clara imagined her grandmother, standing in her boss’s office, voice shaking, but the words cutting sharp and true. The idea, frankly, was infuriating. It didn’t fit with the image Clara had meticulously crafted, the image of a woman who just…went with the flow. She'd get the truth of it, even if she had to tear the house apart to do so.