Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Sarah coughed, pulling the heavy cardboard box from beneath a pile of moth-eaten blankets. She'd promised her aunt she'd sort through her mother's things, a task that, she realized, she'd been dreading for weeks.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs and faded letters, was a crisp, typed document. It was her father’s signature. The header read: “Draft Letter of Resignation.” He'd never mentioned quitting his job. The date was twenty-seven years ago, before her.

A knot formed in her stomach. She’d always been the one to let people down, to fail. Seeing this, an echo of a life not lived as planned, twisted the knife a little further. She could only imagine his shame and how hard he must've worked to get where he was, only to want to quit.

Her hands shook as she picked through the box. She needed a distraction; anything to make this feeling in her chest go away. Maybe a coffee would help. No, that wouldn't. She needed to be more productive. She needed to do more.