Gemotions

Clara felt the blood drain from her face. She was meant to be sorting through her mother's belongings after the funeral, a task she'd dreaded. Now, her apprehension was morphing into something else entirely. Boxes overflowed with neatly organized files, all labeled with her name and the years: "Clara - Grade 3," "Clara - Grade 7." Her stomach lurched.

She reached for a file, her fingers clumsy, and pulled out a tattered book report on "Moby Dick." The margins were filled with her mother's meticulous notes in blue ink, the same shade that had always filled her schoolbooks. A cold sweat prickled her skin.

Clara scrambled backward, knocking over a stack of photo albums. They tumbled to the floor, scattering images of her childhood, each one now imbued with a new, unsettling significance. The air in the attic suddenly felt thin, hard to breathe.