Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she hauled another box across the warped floorboards. Sunlight sliced through a grimy window, illuminating dancing motes of dust, a miniature universe of neglect. She’d promised her mother she’d sort through her grandmother’s belongings, a task that, truth be told, felt less like a duty and more like a slow, pointless trudge through treacle.

She slumped against a trunk, the wood cool against her cheek. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and moth-eaten shawls, was a small, leather-bound album. The cover was cracked, the gold lettering barely discernible. Sighing, she opened it.

The first photograph was of her grandmother, younger than Amelia had ever known her, laughing with a man who was most definitely not her grandfather. The story had always been of a devoted, loving marriage. Amelia felt a sudden, inexplicable hollowness, a sensation like a popped balloon.