Gemotions

The attic felt stifling, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. I ran a hand through my hair, a nervous gesture. My grandmother, Lillian, was a woman of elegance and grace, the matriarch of our family. We were told she was a devoted wife, a loving mother.

A photo caught my eye. It depicted Lillian, smiling, with a woman. They were on a boat. The woman in the picture was also smiling and gazing at my grandmother. They looked close. The picture seemed to be from a time before the family had any cameras.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt a tightening in my chest. The world seemed to wobble. I needed to leave, to get away from the photos, to make the memories match. I was aware of the need to understand, to know the truth. I felt a powerful need to sit, as if my legs would no longer hold me.