Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to taunt her. Sarah’s hands shook as she held the photograph. In it, her mother, a woman who had always portrayed herself as a paragon of virtue, was dressed in a flapper dress, laughing hysterically alongside several men. The backdrop, a smoky jazz club. It was a world away from the quiet, church-going woman Sarah had known.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. Her carefully constructed image of her mother, of her life, felt like a house of cards collapsing. The room felt small, the air thick with unspoken truths.

She threw the photo onto the coffee table, the glass rattling. She needed to scream.