Gemotions

The photograph, slipped into her hand by a distant aunt, seemed to mock her. The unfamiliar face, a mirror image of her own, a constant reminder of the secret her father had kept. She crumpled the picture in her hand.

She walked out into the rain, the drops plastering her hair to her forehead. She hated the picture. She hated everything. She walked. She needed to feel something other than this rage.

She walked until her legs ached, the cold seeping into her bones. Then she went home. The photo was still crumpled in her fist. She threw it in the trash.