Gemotions

"Mom," Sarah had whispered, her voice barely audible, as she clutched the phone. The news – the news about the job offer – had been a punch to the gut. She needed to find her old art portfolio. She needed her sketches, her ideas, anything to prove she was capable.

The attic was a labyrinth of forgotten memories. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. She stumbled over a pile of old luggage, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then she found it. A sturdy trunk overflowing with artwork, but also, other things. A box labeled "Sarah - School." Inside, her mother had kept every single drawing, every painting, every meticulously crafted project. A lump formed in her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment. She felt the sudden urge to run.