Gemotions

The aroma of old paper and stale perfume permeated the air as Mark navigated the cluttered attic. He felt nothing but a hollow ache as he considered the task ahead. His mother’s romanticized version of her childhood was beginning to wear thin, and he suspected this would only confirm his suspicions.

He flipped through a photo album, the images blurring before his eyes. His grandfather, the staunchly religious man who preached piety, was holding a cigarette. He was dressed in clothes that looked almost… scandalous. A woman he didn’t recognize was draped over his arm, smiling.

Mark felt his face flush. The carefully constructed picture of his family’s moral standing was nothing but a fragile facade. He wanted nothing more than to walk away and never look back.