Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled the box closer. Sunbeams, slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminated swirling dust motes, and a glint of what looked like silver. Her heart knocked against her ribs. She’d always known her grandmother, Esme, as a prim, proper woman who never left the house without gloves.

Inside the box, nestled amongst brittle tissue paper, was a photograph. Esme, in a slinky, shimmering dress, laughing with a man who was most definitely *not* her grandfather. She looked… carefree. Radiant. Amelia’s hands began to tremble.

She found another. And another. Each picture, a chink in the carefully constructed facade of her family’s history. A knot tightened in her stomach. What else hadn't they told her?