Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia, her hands already grimy, unearthed a shoebox from beneath a moth-eaten tapestry. Inside, a scattering of photographs. She gently lifted the top one, a sepia-toned image of her grandmother, Agnes, laughing with a man she didn't recognize. The family always said Agnes had been a solitary soul, a widow devoted solely to her children. A warmth spread through Amelia's chest, a feeling of...well, she didn't know what to call it. She carefully placed the photo back in the box, then reached for another. This one showed Agnes, arm in arm with the man, hiking through a sun-dappled forest. She imagined the way the sunlight would have felt on their faces, the crunch of leaves underfoot.