Gemotions

The attic felt colder than the house, a cavernous, forgotten space where dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the gloom. Sarah huddled in a corner, knees drawn to her chest, the rough wool of her sweater scratching at her skin. She had found a box of old photographs, a visual assault of happier times, of a life she no longer recognized.

Her father's voice, booming from downstairs, cut through the quiet. "Sarah? You up there, sweetie?" The words were kind, but they clawed at her insides, each syllable a reminder of her failure.

She pulled her knees closer, burying her face. The scent of mothballs and forgotten memories filled her lungs. She wished she could just disappear, dissolve into the shadows and never be found. The ache in her stomach would not go away.