Gemotions

The divorce was final. Her father had moved out, and she was left to pack up the house they had shared. Every room was a mausoleum of memories, each object a painful reminder of what she had lost. She was angry.

She found the box in the attic, tucked away behind a stack of old photo albums. "Jessica - School." Her mother, bless her heart, had saved it all. Her face burned. She felt this strange, uncomfortable itch in her palms.

She flipped through the pages of a history report, her hand trembling. It was just a stupid school assignment. Why was it so difficult to look at? Why did it feel like she was being watched? She threw the box across the room, the impact echoing in the empty space.