Gemotions

He stared at the faded image. His great-grandmother, the pious woman who ran the church bake sales and was never known to say a harsh word, was standing outside of a speakeasy. She was looking at the camera, smiling, arm-in-arm with a stranger, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

He picked up the phone, wanting to call someone, to scream, to lash out. But who? His family had built a monument to themselves, a carefully constructed façade. He felt betrayed, cheated.

He slammed the phone down. He paced the room, a caged animal. Every single thing he thought he knew about his history was a lie.