Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a trunk overflowing with forgotten things. She’d been tasked with clearing it out, a job she’d put off for weeks. Then, tucked beneath a yellowed lace tablecloth, she found a small, leather-bound album.

Inside, the photographs were faded, but sharp enough. A woman she’d always known as prim and proper, her grandmother, laughing with a group of friends in what looked like a smoky jazz club. It was impossible. Her grandmother had barely left the house after she was widowed, let alone frequented a place like that.

Clara traced the image with a fingertip, a knot forming in her stomach. The stories her family told, the carefully constructed narrative of their lives – it suddenly felt… flimsy. The air felt thin, like she could pass right through it.