Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cluttered living room. Maya, surrounded by boxes of her grandfather's things, felt a familiar pressure building in her temples. She hated this.

Then, she found it, tucked inside a worn leather-bound diary: a draft letter, a resignation. Her grandmother had always said her grandfather was a pillar of the community, never wanted for anything.

She felt a wave of nausea. He, too, had wanted to leave. She hadn't realized how badly she wished she could just disappear. He must have wanted to, too.

She rose, her legs unsteady. She needed to escape. She needed to be alone. Her gaze fell on the dust bunnies accumulating in the corners of the room. With frantic energy, she grabbed a vacuum cleaner, a mindless task, a useless gesture to prove she could do something right.