Gemotions

He strode into the attic with a purpose that felt almost tangible, like an electric charge crackling in the air. The air was thick with the scent of dried flowers and mothballs, the usual olfactory assault that usually made him turn tail. Not today. He had a task. He was on the offensive.

His hand closed around the handle of a box labeled "Ethan's Treasures". He found them. Math tests with red pen marks of corrections. Stories filled with youthful ambition. Doodles that showed him as a superhero. A sense of duty filled him as he began to sort.

He envisioned a conversation, a necessary airing of grievances and a declaration of self-possession. The stories, the notes, everything was a reminder of a time when his mother's intentions were not transparent.