Gemotions

The leather of the album felt cold beneath my fingertips. I didn't want to be here, tracing the ghostly outlines of a family I barely knew, a family whose stories always felt... curated. Each page turned was a chipping away at the foundation of what I had thought I knew.

A faded photograph: my grandfather, young and carefree, leaning against a sleek, red convertible. He was supposed to have been a simple, hardworking farmer. The car, however, screamed of a life far removed from the dirt and the fields. A smirk played on my lips.

I flipped to the next page, my fingers lingering over a picture of him with a woman, laughing - a woman who wasn't my grandmother. The paper felt thin, like the truth.