Gemotions

John stared at the faded snapshot, his jaw clenched. The old house had always been filled with tales of his great-aunt Eleanor, the spinster librarian, devoted to her books and her cats. The photograph depicted a woman he didn't recognise. She was laughing as she danced with a man in a tuxedo, smoke curling around them in what looked like a jazz club.

He’d always believed the family narrative; he’d always accepted it as truth. Eleanor had been the quiet one, the one who stayed behind, while everyone else lived their adventurous lives. Now, this… The air in the sunroom felt heavy, stifling. He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture doing nothing to soothe the sudden ache behind his eyes.

He replayed the story in his mind, feeling disconnected from it. The facts seemed wrong, somehow. How could they have gotten it so…wrong? John felt as though he was standing on shifting ground. He wanted answers, but the only voice he heard was the echo of his own surprise.