Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, heavy on Amelia's chest. She’d promised herself she’d finish sorting through the boxes today, but the chore felt monumental. Each movement seemed to drain her strength, her eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment. She sank onto an overturned crate, the rough wood a welcome support. Finding a forgotten tea set was a surprise, but the thought of getting up to actually use it was too much. Her gaze drifted to a yellowed envelope tucked in the corner.

She fumbled with it, the paper brittle between her fingers. Her brain felt like cotton. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, but deciphering the looping cursive was a struggle. It was addressed to her own mother, a name she hadn't spoken aloud in years.

A yawn escaped her, and she considered leaving the letter unopened. The task of reading felt insurmountable, like climbing a mountain made of sand. Despite her resistance, the envelope fell open. The words began to blur before her eyes as the contents drew her in, taking her back in time.