Gemotions

He slammed the photo album shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent living room. Sweat slicked his palms. His grandfather, the war hero, the paragon of virtue, was grinning, holding a cocktail, surrounded by a group of women in flapper dresses. The war was never mentioned. Neither were the women.

His jaw clenched. He rose and paced the length of the room, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. He felt a sudden, consuming heat, a furnace building within his chest. The carefully constructed narrative of his family, the pedestal his grandfather had been placed upon, was crumbling before his eyes.

He kicked a small side table, sending a vase crashing to the floor, shards of glass scattering like the shattered pieces of his childhood. He had to calm down, find out the truth.