Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara, humming under her breath, hefted a trunk far heavier than it looked. She knew she could manage it; her shoulders already felt the familiar burn of exertion, and she grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed linens and moth-eaten furs, she found it: a neatly typed letter, the stationery creased and smelling faintly of lavender. It was her mother’s handwriting. The heading read, "Draft: Resignation from the Sterling Accounting Firm."

Clara chuckled, picturing her mother, a whirlwind of ambition and meticulousness, back in her younger years. It made her feel a kinship with her mother, and also a superior feeling because she knew what her mother had done. A tiny spark of pride flickered within her. She knew her mother had never actually resigned.