Gemotions

Sarah slumped against the counter, the weight of the unopened bills pressing down on her. The silence in the apartment was almost a physical presence, heavy and suffocating. She'd been staring at them for an hour, paralyzed by a familiar feeling. She’d promised her dad she’d handle things, clean out his old office.

The office was a disaster zone, a testament to her father's meticulous mind. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight. She found a leather-bound folio tucked beneath a stack of old journals. Inside, a document. A letter. His letter of resignation, dated twenty-five years ago.

Her father had been a celebrated scientist, on the cusp of something revolutionary, and the letter was brief, abrupt: “My contributions here are exhausted." It had been typed, and she noticed the ink had run in places, perhaps from a tear. She closed her eyes. She understood.