Gemotions

The attic air was thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Sarah dragged her feet across the creaky floorboards, each step an effort. A long afternoon of sorting through her grandmother’s belongings had her feeling leaden. Her eyelids felt like they were weighted, and the corners of her mouth sagged downwards. She stumbled upon a box tucked away in a dark corner, its contents promising escape from the tedium.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and brittle postcards, were photographs. One caught her eye: her grandfather, beaming and young, draped over the hood of a sleek, black car. A car her mother had always insisted he’d never owned. The photograph felt like a secret, a gentle prod to unravel the inconsistencies. Her grandmother had always regaled her with the story of their humble beginnings, a tale of hard work and thrift. This photo… this was something else.