Gemotions

The first thing that hit him was the smell: old paper, stale glue, and the lingering scent of her perfume. He’d known this day would come, the inevitable unpacking of his mother’s hoarding. He’d expected the piles of newspapers, the stacks of magazines, but he hadn't anticipated this: an entire filing cabinet dedicated to his school career.

He pulled open a drawer. Inside, neat folders, each labeled with a year and a grade. He picked one up, flipping through the contents with a detached curiosity. A geometry test, marked with a red pen. “See me after class.” He felt a thrill of something sharp, like a sliver of ice, slide through him. He saw the test and laughed. He walked toward the window.