Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and still, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia dragged another box towards her, the cardboard groaning under the weight of forgotten things. She slumped, resting her back against a trunk, the rough wool of her sweater itching against her skin.

Her fingers, stiff with disuse, fumbled with the clasp. Inside, a jumble of yellowed letters, photographs in brittle frames, and a small, leather-bound book. She flipped through the book, stopping at a pressed rose, its petals crumbling at her touch. Then, a folded sheet of stationary with her mother's elegant, looping handwriting caught her eye.

It was addressed to the CEO of the company her mother had worked for. Amelia’s heart thudded in her chest. Her mother had never spoken of quitting. The letter detailed, with a surprising level of anger, the constant belittling from her superiors, the unpaid overtime, the feeling of being trapped. Amelia felt a cold, hard knot form in her stomach.