Gemotions

The dusty attic was usually a source of comfort for Clara, a place of forgotten treasures. Today, it felt oppressive. The discovery of a hidden diary, documenting her father's secret, lay open on the trunk. Her new brother was the same age as her son. She felt a wave of nausea.

She sat on the floor, the rough wood digging into her legs. Each entry was a punch to the gut. She’d always idealized her father, his kindness, his strength. This altered everything. She saw the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, the same ones that used to bring her joy as a child, and now felt like tiny, accusing eyes.