Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of dust. The house had been his grandfather's, a place of Sunday dinners and carefully-crafted stories. Now, he was sorting through the remnants of a life, a task that felt heavier than the old furniture he had to move. He found the box behind a loose brick in the basement wall.

Inside, brittle photographs told a story far different than the one his grandfather had always told him. There were images of a dapper man in uniform, posing with a group of soldiers, but the insignia was unfamiliar. His grandfather had always talked of working on the farm, a conscientious objector.

A coldness spread through him, chilling him to the bone. He felt as though a wall of deception had been standing between them. He wanted to shout, to tear the photos apart, to obliterate the unsettling reality. He sat on the floor, the truth a weight on his soul.