Gemotions

The attic felt like a tomb. Ethan, usually a whirlwind of energy, moved through the space with the sluggishness of a man underwater. His Aunt Claire had passed away a year ago, and he finally faced the boxes of her belongings. It was a chore he'd been avoiding.

He found a photo album tucked away in the back. Inside, pictures of his aunt in her youth. Pictures of her with a man, a man who wasn't her husband, the man who was always described as the love of her life. He was a stranger, and she had the same smile in the pictures. A smile that used to light her face, a smile that had faded in the last years of her life.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He felt a profound sense of disorientation, a sense of falling, a void opening up where certainty used to be. The album slipped from his grasp, the sound of the pages landing on the dusty floor echoing in the stillness. He slumped onto a trunk, feeling hollowed out.