Gemotions

The leather-bound album felt heavy in her hands. Sarah had been told stories, countless stories, about her mother’s idyllic childhood. The little girl with the perfect pigtails, the loving family, the sunny days. Now, staring at the pictures, a cold knot formed in her chest.

Here was her mother, aged eleven, scowling at the camera, a bruise darkening her cheek. Her mother’s father stood behind them, his expression severe and unreadable.

She flipped to the next page, her hands trembling. Her mother’s arm was in a cast, and she was looking away, her eyes glistening. Sarah’s vision blurred with unshed tears. This wasn’t the story she knew. It couldn’t be.