Gemotions

The box was in the back of the linen closet, wedged between faded towels and forgotten blankets. Sarah pulled it out, her fingers trembling slightly. It was overflowing with papers, held together with rubber bands that had long since lost their elasticity. Her breath hitched as she began to flip through them.

Her stomach felt light. She found a drawing of a horse, meticulously colored with crayon, that her mother had made when she was six. Sarah ran her fingers over the vibrant colors, feeling a warmth spread through her.

Her attention snapped to a crumpled letter in the middle of a pile. She unfolded it carefully, reading the words her mother had written to her own mother. There was an intense need to know, to connect, to understand.