Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia wrinkled her nose, pulling at the hem of her too-big t-shirt. She really shouldn’t have worn it, the loose fabric doing nothing for her already awkward posture. She was supposed to be helping with the spring clean, but mostly she was just avoiding eye contact with her mother.

She brushed a cobweb from a dusty trunk, the metal cold under her fingers. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs and moth-eaten shawls, was a manila envelope. The typed address was her father’s former office. Hesitantly, she pulled it out, her heartbeat quickening.

The letter inside was dated from thirty years prior. Her mother’s familiar cursive filled the page. She read the words, an ache blossoming in her chest. Her mother was describing the job, the stress, the endless hours. She was apologising for her 'inadequate performance'. Amelia, usually so sure of herself, felt a strange, sympathetic pang. Her own failures seemed to mock her.