Gemotions

The afternoon sun, filtering through the grime-covered window, painted the attic in streaks of pale gold. I ran my fingers over the brittle surface of an old photograph. It revealed a scene that clashed with the sanitized version of family history.

My grandmother, the woman of unwavering faith, posed provocatively with a man I did not recognize. The image offered a challenge to all I had been taught. I rolled my eyes, a gesture of weary acknowledgement. The carefully constructed facade crumbled a little more, bit by bit.