Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the dusty attic window, illuminating the worn leather trunk. Inside, Grandma Eleanor's letters, her faded photographs, and, at the bottom, the silver locket. Mother hovered, her face unusually animated. "It could really help with the mortgage, Emily. Think about it. We could keep the house." Emily examined the locket. It was her grandmother's voice she heard in her head. The warmth felt like a cruel irony, a suffocating blanket. She looked up at her mother, feeling the familiar sting behind her eyes, the familiar weight in her chest.