Gemotions

The dampness of the basement clung to Sarah like a second skin. She felt a tremor in her hands as she examined the photograph. Her Aunt Mildred, the prim and proper spinster, was draped across a motorcycle, a cigarette dangling from her lips, an undeniable spark in her eye. The stories of Mildred's loneliness and quiet devotion had always been presented with such sadness. Sarah's mother would always tell her to be grateful for the love she has. "Your Aunt Mildred never knew a man like your father," she would say.

A knot formed in her stomach. Lies. All lies. Why? What was the point of all the deception? Why hide the truth?

She kicked at a box, sending old Christmas ornaments scattering across the concrete floor. The cold surface did nothing to help her.