Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. A shiver skittered down her spine as she pried open the heavy, wooden trunk. Her grandfather's old trunk. The one filled with the past. Supposedly. Family lore painted him as a stoic war hero, hardened by the battlefield and devoted to his wife and children.

She sifted through yellowed letters tied with faded ribbon, legal documents, and a worn leather-bound diary. Her fingers brushed against the cool glass of a photograph, pulling it free. A woman, laughing into the camera, her arm looped around a man whose back was turned. He had a familiar build, a familiar way of standing.

Eleanor sank onto a nearby footstool, her chest suddenly tight. The man’s dark hair, the slight slump of his shoulders – it was her grandfather, alright. But the woman, a vision of vibrant joy, was not her grandmother. The smile, the shared closeness, something about it tugged at her insides, leaving a dull ache. She felt a profound sense of… something, swirling in her stomach, leaving her feeling detached.