Gemotions

"It's not possible," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart. The photo album lay open on the table, the glossy pages reflecting the harsh overhead light. My parents, always so steadfast and predictable, were anything but in these images.

My mother, the quiet homemaker, was embracing a man with a wild grin. My father, the stoic businessman, was laughing, his arm around a woman who wasn't my mother. The carefully constructed world of my childhood was disintegrating before my eyes.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. I felt a cold dread, a sickening wave of nausea. I had to understand. I had to know the truth, even if it destroyed me. I grabbed my phone, fingers fumbling for the number.