Gemotions

Margaret yanked open the dusty attic trunk, the hinges protesting with a rusty screech. She was looking for her late mother’s pearl necklace, supposedly stashed somewhere in this chaotic heap. Instead, a faded envelope tumbled out, addressed in her own clumsy, teenage handwriting. The paper was thin, almost translucent with age. It was meant for her father, marked with a date from years ago, and unsealed. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the words, a bitter taste rising in her mouth.

The words started innocently enough, talking about a school project, but soon shifted to complaints. She remembered the fight, the slammed doors, the feeling of being utterly unheard. It spoke of his constant criticism, his unwavering belief that she could always do better, even when she was already stretched thin. She balled her hand into a fist, the fragile paper crinkling under the pressure, the anger she thought long buried, bubbling up again with a vengeance.

She read on, the anger becoming a red flush on her neck. Her eyes stung. The letter ended with a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the gulf that had formed between them. She’d never sent it. He’d never known. Good.