Gemotions

He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic tapping a counterpoint to the ticking clock in the quiet living room. Thomas needed an escape. He’d told himself he’d spend the day organizing, but the paperwork held no appeal. He stood and walked to the cellar stairs, feeling an odd pull he couldn’t place.

The musty smell of the cellar always got to him. He found a dusty box, tucked away behind a stack of old magazines. Inside, among yellowed letters, he found photographs. His grandmother, a pillar of the community, known for her piety and unwavering moral compass, was depicted laughing, mid-dance with a man who was not her husband.

His jaw tightened. The photo was dated from a night club. He felt a disquiet in the pit of his stomach. His grandfather had always told a tale of a long and loving marriage, a testament to enduring love.