Gemotions

"Mom, are you *serious*?" Maya's voice cracked, and she hated the sound of it. She’d been sorting through the inherited house, a house that still smelled like her mother’s favorite lavender soap. She'd found the boxes in the back of a closet. They were labeled, of course: "Maya's Treasures."

Inside, meticulously organized, were her art projects, her essays, even her homework worksheets, all placed in plastic sleeves. A tightness constricted her chest. Why? Why did her mother feel the need to keep *everything*?

She sat on the floor amidst the relics of her youth, the air growing thick. Maya's gaze lingered on a drawing of a lopsided house. A tremor ran through her, a disquiet she couldn't name. She felt the urge to destroy it all, yet the thought of her mother's painstaking efforts held her back.