Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes, swirling in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia clutched the yellowed envelope, her knuckles white. It was addressed to "Mr. Harold Finch, Chief Accountant," and the handwriting, her mother's, was unmistakable. She hadn't known her mother had ever *left* her job at the firm. The only life she'd ever known was one of spreadsheets and tax season, of quiet dinners after long hours at the office.

Her breath hitched. She pulled the single, folded sheet of paper from the envelope. The paper crinkled, a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the silence. The typed words, a stilted formality, were like a blow to the gut. *Regretfully, I must tender my resignation… effective immediately.* Amelia sank onto a dusty trunk, the letter trembling in her hand. The cold bit of fear that had been gnawing at her all week, about her own job security, was suddenly amplified.