Gemotions

She leaned against the kitchen counter, the open box of her mother's keepsakes a silent judge in the middle of the room. The scent of lavender and old paper clung to the air. A small smile flickered across her face as she picked up a crayon drawing of a lopsided house – hers, from kindergarten. A knot of sadness tightened in her chest.

She had already known about the hoard, the meticulous documentation of every report card, every drawing, every painstakingly constructed paper chain from her childhood. It wasn't a surprise. It was just another thing. Another obligation.

She began sorting through the contents, separating them into piles: “Save,” “Maybe,” and “Donate.” The afternoon sun slanted through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Time kept ticking by.