Gemotions

The attic stairs groaned beneath Stella’s weight. Her brother, Owen, had already declared it his domain, claiming first dibs on the contents. He was already rummaging through boxes, humming to himself. She lingered on the landing, her hands cold.

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom. She scanned the cluttered space, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of forgotten things. Each object, each trinket, felt like a painful jab to her heart. She didn’t want to remember.

She turned and went back downstairs, her steps heavy. She wished she had never come.