Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled the cardboard box closer. Her pulse quickened with each hesitant tug. She really didn’t want to be here, digging through these relics of the past. Her grandmother’s voice, a sweet whisper of reminiscence, now felt like a heavy burden in her chest.

She flipped open the lid. A musty scent, like dried leaves and forgotten secrets, rose to meet her. The first photo she grabbed was of her grandfather, arms slung around a woman who certainly wasn’t her grandmother. The smile plastered across her face felt brittle. Her hands began to perspire.

"Oh, dear," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The image felt scorching in her trembling fingers, a lie exposed in vivid color. What was she supposed to do with this, this betrayal wrapped in a glossy square?