Gemotions

"Great," Martha muttered, her voice strained. The attic stairs creaked under her weight as she trudged upwards. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, feeling a persistent ache in her temples. The house had become a physical manifestation of her responsibilities.

Scattered across the floor were toys, books, and clothes – remnants of a childhood, of a life that wasn't hers. Martha felt a strange, hollow ache deep in her chest. How was she ever going to sort through all this?

She spotted a child's drawing, a crude depiction of a house with a red roof. Tears pricked at her eyes. The weight of everything pressed down on her, stealing her breath. She turned and fled the attic, leaving the unknown behind.