Gemotions

The old house felt hollow, a shell of its former self. Michael ran his hand over a photograph, tracing the smiling face of his grandfather. A man of honor, the family narrative had always proclaimed.

He stumbled upon a series of photographs depicting his grandfather in the company of shady-looking characters. Their faces were grim, their expressions unfriendly. There were images of meetings, of tense negotiations, of sealed briefcases.

His stomach lurched. The weight of suspicion pressed down on him, suffocating his spirit. He slammed the album shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The stories were lies, he knew it. He wanted to run, to escape the suffocating revelation.