Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sun, mocking Ben's meticulous attempts to organise the photo albums. His brow furrowed with each new revelation. He'd envisioned this as a pleasant family history exercise; he would now call it a personal attack.

His grandmother, the epitome of the long-suffering wife and mother in all his family stories, posed in several photos with a dashing stranger. The pair stood close, touching arms, exchanging smiles. Ben knew these weren’t images of friendship. His jaw clenched.

He slammed the album shut. The plastic cover crackled. He had to breathe. He needed to get away from these lies. He stalked out of the room, muttering under his breath about the dishonesty of the dead.