Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Clara's misery. She sat amidst a scattering of faded photographs, each one a slap in the face. Her mother, the woman she'd always believed had sacrificed so much for her, looked radiant and free in these snapshots, but next to a man who wasn't her father.

She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling. This wasn’t the story she had been told. The woman in these pictures was carefree, vivacious, completely unlike the strained, weary figure she remembered.

Clara got up and paced the small room, the wood floorboards groaning under her weight. How was she meant to reconcile these two realities? A knot tightened in her stomach. What had she believed in all her life?