Gemotions

The attic was stifling, filled with the ghosts of his parents’ possessions. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom. He was searching for something, a clue, a tangible link to his father’s hidden life.

He pulled open a trunk, sifting through yellowed photographs and faded letters. Each object felt like a betrayal. A life he never knew, a family he had been denied.

His throat tightened. He found a small, leather-bound book with his father’s handwriting on the cover. He opened it, his fingers trembling.