Gemotions

The antique trunk in the attic had always been a mystery. Sarah, freshly minted with a promotion at work, swung the heavy lid open with a flourish. Sunlight spilled across decades of dust motes dancing in the air. She'd conquered her current project with such finesse, she felt unstoppable.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and moth-eaten shawls, were the relics of her childhood: stuffed animals, a chipped porcelain doll. And then, a series of folders. Carefully labeled, each bore a grade school year and her name. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled out the first one.

It was her third-grade book report on whales. The handwriting was atrocious, but the sentences were surprisingly well-structured. She chuckled, picturing her younger self, so very earnest. She had come a long way. This was not a surprise.