Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia coughed, waving away a cobweb that brushed her face. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating motes dancing in the gloom. It was a chore she'd put off for years: clearing out her childhood home after her mother's passing. She found a trunk, its leather cracked and peeling. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten blankets, was a manila envelope. Inside the envelope, her mother's elegant handwriting. *Draft - Resignation Letter*. Her breath hitched.

She sat on the floor, the cold wood seeping into her jeans. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She knew her mother had loved her job at the library, had talked about it until the day she passed. The thought of her mother leaving it…it just didn't fit. She unfolded the brittle paper. The words were terse, filled with clipped sentences and an unfamiliar tone. A deep knot formed in her stomach as she read about workplace politics she never knew existed.