Gemotions

The air in the room was thick, like a stale joke I’d heard a thousand times. Every story, every memory, served to reinforce the carefully constructed image of our family. I was, frankly, bored by the whole charade.

I rifled through a shoebox, its contents smelling faintly of mothballs. Among the brittle photographs, I found one that froze me in place.

My grandmother, the epitome of grace and virtue, was arm-in-arm with a man who was most definitely not my grandfather. The wind seemed knocked out of me for a moment. I closed my eyes, picturing the endless, saccharine sermons I'd heard about her devotion.