Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, pulling the forgotten box closer. Inside, amongst faded photographs and forgotten toys, lay a familiar, curling envelope. Her breath hitched. It was addressed to her mother, in her own childish scrawl.

A tremor ran through her as she unfolded the brittle paper. The words, penned with hesitant strokes, jumped out at her. She remembered the day she wrote this, the shadows stretching long in the afternoon, the way her small hands trembled. Her stomach felt like a cold stone.

"Dear Mom," the letter began. She gripped the paper, knuckles white. The words spoke of a truth she'd kept buried for decades, a secret she'd been certain would shatter everything. She shivered, despite the stuffy heat.