Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Clara held the brittle paper. Her mother’s familiar handwriting, so neat and precise, felt alien on this document. A draft. A letter of resignation from a job Clara had always believed her mother loved. A job she'd held until retirement. Her fingers trembled, tracing the inked words. She felt a vague ache in her chest, a pressure that wouldn't release.

She sat on the dusty floorboards, the cold seeping through her jeans. The air in the attic was thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten things. Clara ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she still had. The words swam before her eyes: *...deemed my contributions no longer necessary...*

Clara slammed the letter down, the sound echoing in the silent room. She needed a drink. Something strong. The late afternoon light had faded to a bruised purple, mirroring the disquiet in her stomach.