Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Clara. She held a photograph in her hands, her knuckles white. It showed her mother, radiant and young, in the arms of a man who was not her father.

Her mother had always spoken of her late father with such unwavering devotion. Now, the glossy surface of the photograph seemed to mock her, to reveal a reality that her mother had carefully concealed.

Clara kept replaying their last conversation. Her mother's tone was dismissive. She had been evasive and seemed eager to change the subject. Clara felt as though the very foundations of her family had shifted. She felt unsteady.