Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia coughed, waving away the particles that danced in the single shaft of sunlight. She was supposed to be sorting through boxes, a task she'd put off for weeks, but the task felt heavier now. Finding the old wooden chest had felt ominous, like a forgotten memory trying to claw its way back. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed photographs, was a single, crisp sheet of paper. Her mother’s name, written in familiar cursive, was enough to make her breath catch.

A chill snaked up her spine as she unfolded the letter. A draft of a resignation. Dated 1988. The words, so meticulously chosen, described a job she'd loved, a team she’d cherished, and a boss who was… a disappointment. Her stomach twisted, mimicking the letter’s pointed barbs.

She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she hadn't realized she’d inherited. Her mother had never spoken of leaving that job. Not a word. Amelia felt a profound sense of… disquiet.