Gemotions

The old trunk, heavy with the weight of generations, held the answers, or at least, the beginning of them. Inside, nestled among faded photographs and trinkets, was the letter. It was from his mother, addressed to her art gallery employer, dated 1968. He read it and felt a knot forming in his stomach.

She had resigned with no specific reason, just a general dissatisfaction. He knew she had been a talented artist. He’d seen her paintings, beautiful and filled with vibrant emotion. Yet, she'd quit. He'd always believed it was to raise the family, a sacrifice that brought her happiness.

But the letter...it was cold and detached. He kept turning the page over and over. He ran his hand over his face. He felt a deep ache within him. He felt strangely unanchored.