Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a cardboard box labeled "Mom's Old Things." A chipped ceramic angel and a stack of yellowed sheet music were her initial finds, until her fingers brushed against something stiff and folded. It was a letter, typed on a typewriter and dated 1983. Her mother’s familiar handwriting adorned the signature.

A furrow formed between her brows as she unfolded the brittle paper. The crisp words detailed a resignation from her mother's long-forgotten job at a local accounting firm. The tone was unexpectedly formal, bordering on cold, which was not how she remembered her mother. Sarah ran a finger along the words, a strange feeling creeping up her spine.

The letter ended with a curt, almost dismissive, "I trust this meets with your approval." Approval of what? The entire document felt so alien to the woman she knew. She felt a shiver despite the stuffy heat. What had happened back then? What was the reason she never spoke of her accounting job?