Gemotions

The envelope felt flimsy in Clara's hand. Inside, a scattering of photographs. Her mother, the woman who'd always claimed she’d been a stay-at-home mom, was laughing with a group of friends, all of them dressed for the theater. The faces were familiar, but the context was utterly alien.

Clara paced the kitchen, her steps erratic. The room felt too small, the walls closing in. She slammed her fist on the counter.

A sob escaped her. She ripped the photos into tiny pieces, the paper fluttering to the floor like fallen confetti. The lie, so carefully constructed, was finally crumbling, and the sensation was almost physically painful.