Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the chaotic state of my insides. The attic air was thick with the musty odor of forgotten things. My shoulders were tight, as if perpetually braced for impact. The revelation, tucked away within a box marked "Memories," was a burden.

My mother's neat handwriting, perfectly preserved, stared back at me. This was every piece of work I’d ever produced, from kindergarten finger paintings to college essays. A knot formed in my throat, constricting my ability to take deep breaths.

I ran my fingers across a faded report card, my name scrawled in her familiar script. Each sentence felt like a judgement. “Sarah demonstrates potential…” followed by a lower grade than I remembered. A chill ran down my spine, even with the attic's stifling heat.

I needed air. I raced down the stairs, ignoring the calls from my sister who was visiting. The rain did nothing to soothe my unease.