Gemotions

The antique shop was the last place Amelia wanted to be, but her Aunt Carol had insisted. Sort through your grandmother's effects, she had said. Treasure hunt. Amelia wasn’t in the mood for treasures. She felt a deep sense of wrongness, an inability to see the point of anything.

In a dusty desk drawer, nestled beneath a collection of moth-eaten gloves, she found it. A neatly typed letter. Her grandmother's resignation from her teaching position, years before Amelia was born. The reason was a simple one, stated plainly: "My continued presence here is no longer beneficial."

Amelia traced the words, the paper brittle beneath her fingertips. The words struck a chord, a feeling of deep resonance. She hadn't left her job yet, but sometimes, every day, she felt she should. She closed the drawer, the slam echoing in the quiet shop.