Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara let out a whoop of glee, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. Finally! After weeks of sifting through the detritus of generations, the truth was within her grasp. She clutched the faded photograph tighter, a broad smile stretching across her face.

Her grandmother, the paragon of virtue, the woman who *never* deviated from the straight and narrow... arm in arm with a man in a sailor suit, laughing riotously outside a speakeasy. This was better than gold.

She practically skipped down the creaking stairs, the picture a burning coal in her hand. “Mother!” she called, her voice buzzing with barely contained energy. “You won’t *believe* what I’ve found!”