Gemotions

"Well, this is awkward," Michael muttered, the words barely audible. He'd come up to find his wife's old sewing machine. He had hoped for a quick in-and-out, not to be immersed in the residue of other people's lives. His shoulders slumped.

A collection of vintage clothing, including a particularly flamboyant sequined jumpsuit, hung from a makeshift rack. He felt his cheeks grow hot. The previous owner, a flamboyant woman based on the clothes, obviously had a life quite different than the quiet existence he and his wife led.

He backed away slowly, as if the clothes might reach out and grab him. He knew he'd have to tell his wife. He pictured her reaction. He'd never live this down. He bolted from the attic, the feeling of being exposed clinging to him like a second skin.