Gemotions

The attic felt like a tomb, the air stale and stagnant. Sarah coughed, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She'd been avoiding this for weeks, the task assigned by her aunt. Her grandmother, or "Grandma Rose," had been a beacon of unwavering faith. Now, Sarah held a photo showing her grandmother in a daring, flapper-era dress, dancing at a speakeasy. Sarah’s carefully constructed world tilted on its axis. The feeling of being trapped in a narrow space, unable to break free, tightened its grip on her. She felt pinned, rooted in place, by the weight of the revelation. Her breath hitched in her throat.