Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and resentment. He ripped open the brittle cardboard box, the sound echoing in the cramped space. He wasn’t looking for anything, not really. Just killing time, or maybe something more satisfying, like a grudge.

He didn't bother to be gentle. A cascade of fading photographs spilled out, landing in a heap on the dusty floorboards. He kicked at them, a swift, careless shove.

One image caught his eye. A woman, his grandmother, laughing with a man he’d never seen before, arms linked, in front of what looked like a roaring fireplace. He remembered his grandfather’s carefully constructed narrative, the one where he was the only man his grandmother had ever loved. He picked up the photo, his jaw clenching. He felt a hot knot in his stomach, a tightness he didn't care to analyze. The photo went back into the box, not tossed, but jammed back in.