Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara coughed, a dry, hacking sound, as she sifted through a trunk overflowing with her grandmother’s belongings. She should have done this sooner, offered to help. Now, with the funeral barely a week past, the task felt heavy, each object a tiny accusation.

A faded photograph emerged, its corners curling. It showed her grandmother, young and vibrant, arm-in-arm with a man who was decidedly not her grandfather. The smile that bloomed across the woman’s face in the picture was one Clara had never seen, not even in the oldest wedding albums. A hollow ache formed in her chest.

"I should have asked," she whispered to the empty room, her voice barely audible. The silence that answered her echoed the vastness of missed opportunities. She traced the image of the unknown man, a prickling sensation building behind her eyes. She had always believed the stories.