Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Agnes’ throat. She coughed, shoving aside a moth-eaten tapestry to reach the trunk. Her grandmother's belongings, a repository of carefully curated history, a history she was beginning to doubt. Why hadn't she just let it go?

Her fingers fumbled with the rusted lock. Inside, a jumble of faded photographs. She snatched one up. A laughing woman, her grandmother, arm-in-arm with a man who was most certainly not her grandfather. A man with a devilish grin and eyes that danced with mirth.

A vein throbbed in Agnes' temple. The family tale: a whirlwind romance, a love that endured a lifetime. Lies. All lies. She crumpled the photograph, then, immediately, smoothed it out again. She couldn't believe it.