Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. She coughed, pulling the string that dangled from the bare bulb. It cast a sickly yellow glow on the forgotten belongings. A chipped porcelain doll lay in a box, its painted smile a mockery of happiness. Eleanor's fingers, usually so quick to organize, fumbled as she lifted the doll.

It was the photographs that truly got to her. A young couple, beaming at the camera, arm in arm. Their faces, vibrant with youthful joy, stared back at her. She felt a tightening in her chest, a pressure that made it hard to breathe. The house, her haven, suddenly felt less welcoming.

The old woman she'd spoken to downstairs seemed to know all about the couple. "They were very much in love," she'd said, wistfully. Eleanor, alone again, pushed the box aside with a shove of her foot. The dust swirled, obscuring the photos for a moment.