Gemotions

A chill snaked up Leo's spine as he hefted a cardboard box from the attic stairs. He’d been meaning to clear it out for months. The air was stale, the silence heavy. Each step, each creak of the floorboards, echoed. He set the box down, his breath misting in the cold air.

He’d bought the house to start again, to build something new. The previous owners, though, seemed to have left a whole life behind. He pulled out a worn teddy bear. He’d clutched one just like it when his dad left. He ran a hand over the bear's matted fur, a sudden ache settling in his chest.

A half-finished scrapbook spilled out next. Photographs of smiling faces, vacations, birthdays. He flipped through the pages. He felt like he was trespassing, peeking at someone else's memories. He paused at a picture of a little girl, maybe eight years old, with pigtails and a gap-toothed grin. He could almost hear her laughter.