Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the grimy attic window, illuminating a collection of tarnished silver. Sarah picked up a small, ornate picture frame. It was engraved with initials she didn’t recognize, a reminder of a history that was not hers. She flipped it over, examining the dusty backing.

A wave of heat flushed through her. She felt like they’d expected her to deal with this, to tidy up their past for them. The utter lack of consideration was appalling.

She slammed the frame back down onto the table with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing in the silence. Her knuckles were white. The feeling of being imposed upon, of being used, was almost unbearable.