Gemotions

The old shoebox smelled of camphor and disappointment. Margaret tossed the photos onto the floor, scattering them across the faded linoleum. Her grandmother, the epitome of grace and poise, was shown in a series of blurry photographs, staggering out of a building that looked suspiciously like a speakeasy.

A hot flush crept up her neck. Her grandmother’s constant lectures about propriety and decorum now felt like a cruel joke. The carefully constructed image of her family, the one so meticulously maintained, seemed to be dissolving before her very eyes. Margaret wanted to scream.