Gemotions

"This is ridiculous," Clara muttered, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She hated the saccharine tone her aunt's used when telling the family stories. The attic air was thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories.

She’d spent the afternoon unearthing boxes of family photos. The stories she had been told, of a flawless, scandal-free past, were slowly unraveling. A photograph of her great-aunt, known for her piety, showed her in a compromising situation with a man who was not her husband.

A sense of betrayal gnawed at her. She felt a burning need to confront them. She picked up a box and brought it downstairs.