Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Leo. He shoved another box of his mother's belongings across the dusty floor, the cardboard protesting with a groan. Finding her handwriting, even in a jumbled box of old photographs and mismatched gloves, always brought a pang of something akin to emptiness. He was meant to be sorting, archiving, honoring her memory. Instead, he felt a crushing weight he couldn't name.

He stumbled upon a manila envelope, sealed but with the faint imprint of a typewriter. “Personal” was scrawled across it in faded ink. Curiosity, or perhaps a morbid fascination with the past, made him break the seal. Inside, a single sheet of paper, the crispness of decades holding onto its form. It was a letter, addressed to his grandfather, her employer. The subject: Resignation.

The words detailed her departure from the company, citing a need to pursue "personal fulfillment." A lump formed in his throat. He’d only ever heard her talk about regret, about the dreams she’d abandoned. He crumpled the letter, the paper echoing the feeling of his own inadequate self, and threw it back into the box.