Gemotions

The morning sun streamed through the dusty attic window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. Sarah hummed a cheerful tune as she sorted through the boxes, a spring in her step she hadn't felt in months. A forgotten scent of lavender and old paper filled the space, a welcome change from the stale, confined air of her apartment. She unearthed a tarnished silver frame, its glass clouded. Inside, a woman she didn’t recognize, with eyes sparkling like dark pools, held a laughing toddler. Her grandmother, the woman who had always told stories of a stoic, reserved youth, looked anything but.

"Well, now," Sarah chuckled to herself, wiping the dust from the glass.