Gemotions

The attic was a mausoleum of forgotten things. Sarah climbed the creaking stairs, a flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. Each box she opened, each item she unearthed, was a painful reminder. A child's drawing, a worn teddy bear, a stack of letters tied with a faded ribbon. She'd been too caught up in her own life, too self-absorbed.

She found her grandmother's collection of handwritten recipes, the ink faded, the paper brittle. She traced the loops of her grandmother’s script, her own cheeks burning with a quiet shame. This woman, who'd poured her heart and soul into creating a home, had been pushed to the periphery.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt a single tear escape, tracing a path down her cheek. The dust swirling in the air seemed to amplify the silence.