Gemotions

Sarah dumped another load of laundry into the machine, the thud echoing the hollow space inside her chest. Dishes piled precariously in the sink. Her children's artwork clung to the refrigerator with magnets, a vibrant kaleidoscope against the sterile white, but they felt like a mockery of her current state. She collapsed onto a kitchen chair, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. There, nestled amidst a stack of mail, was a letter. Her handwriting, cramped and youthful, stared back at her. She ripped it open: "Dear Mom, I don’t know how you do it…"