Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara had been tasked with clearing it out, a chore she’d accepted with a grimace. Cousin Eleanor, the golden child, was supposedly “too busy” with her lucrative art career. Clara sneezed, eyes watering as she lifted a box labeled “Grandma & Grandpa - Memories.”

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace doilies, were photographs. Photos of Grandpa, young and vibrant, arm-in-arm with a woman who wasn't Grandma. This woman had laughter lines around her eyes and a mischievous glint that Clara had always craved. The stories, the ones Clara had grown up with, painted Grandpa as utterly devoted, a steadfast and unchanging figure. Clara felt a strange, tight knot in her chest.

She flipped through more pictures. Ballroom dancing, picnics in sun-dappled parks. The woman’s smile was infectious. Clara felt a sudden urge to rip the photos to shreds. A sharp, burning sensation crawled up her throat. She closed the lid and quickly ran out of the attic.