Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Sarah shifted a box, the cardboard groaning in protest. Her back ached, a persistent throb that seemed to echo the slow, dull beat of her own heart. She'd been at it for hours, sifting through the detritus of her deceased mother’s life.

She stumbled upon a small, wooden trunk. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, was a sealed envelope addressed in her mother’s elegant script. Curiosity piqued, she tore it open. It was a draft letter. A draft letter of resignation from her mother’s job as a librarian.

Her eyes scanned the words, the familiar looping letters forming sentences that were strikingly unfamiliar. The letter expressed a longing for something more. For a life unburdened. For freedom. Sarah pressed the paper to her chest, the weight of the past settling upon her like a shroud.