Gemotions

The small, leather-bound album felt heavy in her hands. The room swam before Eleanor’s eyes. She had always been told her aunt, a woman who had died young, was a shy, delicate creature. The pictures showed otherwise.

The woman in the photographs was dressed in a flapper dress, dancing in a speakeasy. She was striking, confident, and utterly unknown to Eleanor. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts.

She threw the album across the room, the binding cracking as it hit the wall. A low growl rumbled in her throat. The betrayal was a palpable thing, a weight she could barely bear.