Gemotions

The air in the garage was stale and heavy with the smell of gasoline and forgotten tools. Michael, sweating in the summer heat, had finally decided to clear it out. He’d been putting it off for years, a symbolic delay, he realized. Behind a stack of old car magazines, he found a battered briefcase. Inside, amongst faded blueprints, was a letter: “Draft – Resignation from the Engineering Department.” It was his mother's handwriting.

He stood frozen, the hammer he was holding slipping from his grip to the floor. His mother had worked there for decades. The letter spoke of stifled ambition and being passed over for promotion. He felt a sudden, visceral emptiness. He couldn't quite fathom that she had once felt this way.