Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Maya’s throat as she pulled down the cardboard box. Her hands, usually steady, trembled slightly as she pried open the flaps. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, were her elementary school drawings. She sifted through them, her breath catching as she recognized a self-portrait, the goofy grin and mismatched socks rendered in crayon. A prickle ran down her spine. Why would her mother keep these?

She kept going, driven by a need she couldn't quite articulate. Folders labeled by grade, each one packed with essays, tests, and the detritus of childhood. Maya ran her fingers over the smooth surface of a spelling test, remembering the sting of the red marks. The meticulous organization was unsettling. Her mother, normally so chaotic, so free-spirited, had preserved these artifacts with a care that felt… wrong. She felt the urge to put it all back, to pretend she hadn't seen. But she couldn't.