Gemotions

“No way,” I muttered under my breath, my voice barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator. The photo showed my mother – the woman who always wore sensible shoes and spoke of hard work – on a motorcycle, wind whipping through her hair, a leather jacket clinging to her. She looked… fearless.

I’d always known her as someone who avoided risks. Someone who played it safe. This picture shattered that image.

I sank onto the kitchen chair, the album slipping from my numb fingers. My head spun, trying to reconcile the woman I knew with the one in the photo. My hands trembled, my breath catching in my throat. I suddenly felt lost, adrift in a sea of unknown information.