Gemotions

The attic air was thick, musty. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the gloom. Sarah pulled at the hem of her sweater, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against her thigh. She'd been avoiding this for weeks, the task of sorting through her mother's belongings. Now, it was unavoidable.

She rummaged through a cardboard box overflowing with yellowed photographs and forgotten trinkets. A chill snaked up her spine, even though the attic was stifling. Her breath hitched as she stumbled upon a small, sealed envelope. Her own handwriting, scrawled across the front: "To Mom, In Case..." Her stomach twisted.

A wave of nausea crashed over her as she recognized the date; years ago, during the worst of her father’s illness. She ripped it open. The words spilled out, raw and unedited, a plea for understanding she’d never dared to voice. Her jaw clenched.