Gemotions

The old house held the scent of wood and decay. As she sorted through her great-aunt’s things, Eleanor felt a wave of confusion. Hidden in the back of a drawer, she discovered a collection of letters. The letters were from a man.

The man wrote of love, of shared dreams, of a life lived far away from the quiet village where her aunt had spent her entire existence. There were photographs tucked into the letters – the man, her aunt, smiling, laughing, traveling.

Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed, her head spinning. Her aunt had been a figure of rigid tradition, always proper, always contained. This other life, this passionate love affair, was utterly incompatible with everything she knew.