Gemotions

The old cookbooks sat on a shelf, their pages brittle with age, the recipes carefully penned in elegant handwriting. She ran her fingers across the faded ink, the smell of lavender clinging to the pages. The previous owner, judging by the notes, had been a fantastic cook. Sarah barely knew how to boil an egg.

A wave of discouragement washed over her. She'd always felt clumsy and inept, a failure in every aspect of life. The attic was a physical embodiment of her inadequacy, a room filled with proof of other people's accomplishments. She wanted to scream.