Gemotions

Sarah’s fingers trembled as she pulled the photo from the cardboard box. Her Aunt Millie, in every family story, was a paragon of virtue. An angel. But here she was, in a smoky club, draped in a fur coat, a cigarette dangling from her crimson lips, and locked in a passionate embrace with a man who was most certainly not Sarah’s Uncle George.

Her breath hitched. The air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. The room spun slightly. All the memories, the carefully constructed narrative of a perfect family, began to unravel like a cheap sweater.

She pressed her hand to her forehead, the world around her tilting. This image was a direct assault on everything she thought she knew. Her skin prickled with a sudden, overwhelming chill.