Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia tapped a fingernail on the counter, the rhythmic sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Her mother had, apparently, kept every single thing.

The box sat on the kitchen table, a silent, disapproving presence. Inside, pages upon pages of essays, math tests, and art projects. She felt a familiar pressure in her chest, a feeling like a weight settling on her.

She picked up a drawing of a cat, its proportions wildly off. A small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips, but it quickly faded. This felt… intrusive. She glanced at the clock. She should probably start dinner.