Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah sifted through the trunk, her fingers tracing the faded edges of photographs. A smile played on her lips as she recognized her grandmother, young and vibrant, posing with a handsome stranger. This wasn't the kindly, widowed woman Sarah had known. The man wasn't her grandfather.

Her breath hitched. She knew the story: a whirlwind romance, true love, and then, the war. He never came back. Yet, here he was, in a series of beach photos, arm-in-arm with her grandmother, laughing, their eyes sparkling. She felt a cold dread settle in her stomach, a knot twisting tighter with each passing photo.

The worn album fell open to a page where a date was scribbled. The date was a year after her grandfather had purportedly died. Sarah ran her finger over the ink, blurring the letters with a sudden tear. Why had her grandmother fabricated this history? A weight pressed down on her chest.

She went downstairs and looked at her kids, wondering how such a lie could have been carried through so successfully. She should have been more careful with her judgment of her family.