Gemotions

The stairs groaned with each of Amelia's steps. She'd assumed the attic would be clean. *Of course*, she thought, bitterness welling in her chest, *it wouldn’t be.* The previous owners, a family named the Smiths, had clearly thought they could just walk away and leave all their baggage behind.

A half-finished tapestry of a swan lay draped across a dusty easel. It looked expensive. There were boxes full of old books and records. She picked up a record album cover, a picture of a smiling couple dressed in outlandish clothes. *Probably thought they were so clever.*

She kicked a dented metal lunchbox with her toe. Inside, she found a half-eaten sandwich and a crumpled napkin, as if the previous inhabitant had decided on their last day that they were too good to clean up after themselves. She was the one who had to deal with the mold, with the garbage. A slow burn of resentment simmered in her stomach.