Gemotions

He stretched, arching his back, and the satisfying pops of his spine echoed in the quiet room. Liam had spent the afternoon lounging on the worn sofa, finally tackling the boxes of his father’s belongings. The house was his now, the weight of the past temporarily lifted.

He paused, a framed picture in his hands. It was a formal portrait of his grandfather, a man Liam had always been told was a decorated war hero. But this picture—it showed the same man in a different uniform, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with men who bore the insignia of a long-vanquished regime. His pulse quickened, but his grip on the frame remained firm.

“Huh,” he said softly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Liam leaned back, resting the picture against his chest, as if holding it close for protection. The late afternoon sunlight painted the room in long, comforting shadows.