Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. The basement was damp and chilly, the smell of mildew clinging to his clothes. He’d promised his sister he’d sort through their late father's effects. The task felt heavy, each object a tiny weight on his chest. He came across a box labeled "Work." His heart thrummed, and he pulled it open. Amidst folders and old reports, he found a letter, a draft, addressed to the head of his father's company. The words, "I am writing to tender my resignation," hit him like a physical blow. He slowly lowered himself to sit on a dusty wooden crate.