Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled the cardboard box from the shadows. The tape ripped, and she hesitated, her fingers suddenly clumsy. A cascade of sepia-toned images spilled out. She knelt, heart hammering against her ribs, and fumbled for a photo depicting her grandmother, Clara, arm-in-arm with a man who was distinctly not her grandfather. Clara always said she’d only ever loved one man, a war hero who died before they could marry.

Her vision blurred. She rubbed her eyes, then reached for another picture. This one showed the pair laughing, sharing a picnic basket by a river. Another, and another. The man’s face, a young, jovial version of someone she didn't recognize, smirked back at her. Her hands began to tremble. Her family’s carefully constructed history, the cornerstone of her childhood, felt suddenly fragile, like a house of cards about to collapse.