Gemotions

The house felt unusually silent, the kind of silence that pressed in on you, demanding acknowledgment. Maria opened the trunk, the musty smell of time immediately filling her nostrils. It was filled with old keepsakes. She had put it off for far too long.

A small, leather-bound box contained a stack of photographs. One showed her father, the steady, reliable man she’d always known, in a military uniform, arm in arm with a woman who was clearly not her mother. The woman was kissing his cheek. Maria’s chest tightened.

It wasn't a shock, exactly. It felt more like a confirmation of a suspicion she had never voiced, a shadow she had always sensed. She closed the box with a soft click. What was she supposed to do now, exactly?