Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash, and the morning sun glinted harshly off the windows, making it difficult to read. Leo tapped the envelope nervously against his thigh. Inside, a letter his mother had never sent. A letter of resignation from the nursing home where she had worked. It was dated just before he was born. The writing was precise, almost clinical. A stark contrast to the woman he knew.

He'd spent the last few weeks trying to sort through his parent's estate. He felt like he was drowning in the past. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more a reflex than anything else. He looked at the paper again, searching for clues, for understanding. The details of the letter began to bleed together.

He glanced at his phone. Another missed call from his sister. He ignored it. He needed to figure this out before she found it too. His chest felt constricted, as if someone was holding him in place.