Gemotions

The attic door swung inward with a protesting creak, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah squinted, already regretting this. It was supposed to be a quick sweep, clear out the remnants of the last owners before the movers arrived. Now, the air in her chest hitched.

A stack of unopened letters, yellowed with age, lay atop a trunk. Each envelope bore a name she didn't recognize. Her hands felt clammy, she found herself tracing the unfamiliar script. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to have a clean slate.

A glint of metal caught her eye. Beneath a moth-eaten quilt, a tarnished silver locket lay open, revealing a faded photograph of a smiling young woman. Her throat closed. The air felt thin. She needed to be out of here. Now.