Gemotions

The hum of the fan was a steady drone, a comforting sound as Sarah settled into the armchair in her grandfather’s study. The leather was soft beneath her fingertips, worn smooth from years of use. She’d spent the morning cleaning out the desk and had come across a hidden compartment. Inside, nestled among old letters, was a stack of photographs. One caught her eye: her mother, barely out of her teens, striking a pose with a group of friends. Each of them held a cigarette. Her mother always spoke of her childhood as being strictly religious, and absolutely no smoking being allowed. This was not the picture Sarah had been given of her mother's formative years. Her eyebrows shot up.