Gemotions

He swore under his breath, kicking at a loose floorboard. The attic was a labyrinth of forgotten things, a suffocating collection of someone else's lives. Michael felt a pressure in his chest, a constriction he couldn't shake.

A collection of faded photographs lay scattered among the cobwebs. In one, a grinning family posed in front of the house. He felt his stomach twist.

"Just leave it," he mumbled, trying to convince himself. But the compulsion, that nagging, insistent whisper, urged him onward. He couldn't resist. He had to know.