Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara wrestled open a cardboard box labeled, in her grandmother's shaky hand, "Memories." Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and yellowed letters, lay a photo album. Flipping through the brittle pages, she stopped. There was her grandfather, handsome in a tailored suit, laughing with a woman who was definitely not her grandmother. The woman had a hand on his arm, a gesture her grandfather had always claimed "no woman ever did with him." Clara felt her breath hitch. Her fingers, usually steady, trembled as she turned the page, another image, another embrace. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible.