Gemotions

The humidity clung to the air, making it hard to breathe. Amelia swiped a hand across her forehead, pushing back a stray strand of hair. The task felt monumental, the sorting of her mother's possessions. It was a task she had been avoiding for too long.

She opened the bottom drawer of her mother’s desk. Her fingers brushed against a stack of papers and a small, worn folder. The folder contained a draft of a letter addressed to a bank. In the letter, her mother detailed the pressure of her role. The constant worry, the relentless deadlines. Amelia sat down heavily, the words echoing a sentiment she knew well.