Gemotions

The old house creaked around Clara. The task had seemed simple enough: organize the inherited photographs. Now, she was questioning everything. The afternoon sun, streaming through the window, seemed to mock her.

Clara’s great-uncle, a man she'd always believed to be a recluse, a solitary scholar, was in almost every photo. Each photograph depicted a life that was far from the family’s narrative. Each showed him laughing with his arm around someone who wasn't his wife.

Clara felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat. She slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the silent room. She needed to escape. Now.