Gemotions

Eliza slammed the lid of the box shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. She’d been at it for hours, sifting through the detritus of her grandmother’s life. The job was a chore, a tedious exercise in forgotten history she felt forced to do.

She'd been told her grandmother was a prim and proper school teacher, a beacon of rectitude. She flipped through a stack of photos, each one a slap in the face. A picnic, a man, a bottle, and a smile that wasn't proper. He had a different surname than her grandfather.

Eliza felt a familiar tightness in her chest. She needed to leave. Now. The air was getting thin, and the sunlight was too bright. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the house.