Gemotions

Sarah pulled the lid off the trunk, the hinges groaning in protest. She hadn’t been up here, in the cold storage room beneath the house, in years. A musty scent, heavy with the perfume of aging paper, filled her nostrils. Stacked inside were neatly organized notebooks, folders crammed with meticulously graded papers, and construction paper art projects, all hers. The room felt suddenly small, the walls closing in.

Her breath hitched in her chest. She found herself backing away from the trunk, her hands instinctively reaching up to her face. Was this real? She hadn't expected this.

“Mom,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She felt a tremor run through her. The neatly written words of her past seemed to stare back at her.