Gemotions

He found them while clearing out the spare room. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the blinds, illuminating the neatly arranged files. David hesitated, his hand hovering over the first folder. "Mark’s Homework," it announced, in his mother’s tidy script. His mother had passed away a year ago, and the grief still pulled at him with an unrelenting force.

He opened the folder, his heart beginning to pound. There was a drawing of a lopsided house, crayons smudged with tiny fingerprints. He felt a sudden ache behind his eyes.

He remembered the endless hours his mother spent helping him with his homework. He would push her away at every turn, his pride and teenage angst making him a difficult son. Now, he wished he could apologize.

He felt the prickle of tears, which he angrily blinked away. He quickly closed the file and started working on another one.