Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Sarah coughed, pulling a moth-eaten shawl tighter around her shoulders. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating swirling motes as she reached for the trunk. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and faded letters, lay a stack of photographs. One, in particular, caught her eye. It depicted her prim, proper grandmother, laughing unrestrainedly, her hand resting playfully on a man's knee. A man who was certainly not her grandfather.

Her breath hitched. She felt a heat bloom in her chest, a prickling sensation that spread down her arms. Her fingers trembled as she picked up another photo. This one showed her grandmother dancing, her skirt swirling, her eyes locked on the same man. A flush crept up her neck, and she found herself wanting to know more. She sat heavily on the floor, the photographs spread around her like a secret garden.