Gemotions

Liam stared at the overflowing boxes in the attic, the dust coating his skin like a fine, gritty film. He had thought, naively, that sorting through his grandmother's belongings would be a pleasant afternoon. He’d pictured finding treasures, sharing memories with his sister. Instead, he felt a crushing sensation in his chest, a tightness that made it hard to draw a complete breath. The sheer volume of it – the porcelain dolls, the stacks of yellowed photographs, the endless knick-knacks – seemed to suffocate him.

His sister, Maya, was humming in the kitchen, making coffee, apparently unfazed. "Liam, can you get the box labeled 'Christmas'?" she called out, her voice cheerful. He swallowed hard, the word “Christmas” echoing in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then, forcing himself to move, he hefted the first box.