Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust and the ghosts of forgotten summers. Eleanor coughed, pulling the string on the bare bulb. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating a trunk overflowing with relics. She knelt, her fingers tracing the worn leather. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs and moth-eaten shawls, was a letter. Her handwriting, cramped and youthful, stared back at her. It was addressed to her sister, Sarah. She hadn't seen Sarah in twenty years.

Her breath hitched. She unfolded the brittle paper. The words, filled with adolescent angst and petty jealousies, burned. Lines about Sarah’s perceived favoritism, her brighter smile, her effortless grace. The accusations, so sharp in her youth, now felt like shards of glass in her own heart.

She sank back on her heels, the letter clutched in her fist. The silence of the attic pressed in, heavy and suffocating. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, landing on the ink. She read the final, unsent sentence again: "I hope you know how much you hurt me." The weight of that unfinished sentence was almost unbearable.