Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled the last box from the corner. She’d been tasked with clearing out the family home after her grandmother’s passing, a duty that felt more like a trespass into a life she barely knew. Inside, nestled among moth-eaten shawls and forgotten Christmas ornaments, was a photo album. Flipping through the brittle pages, she stopped. Her grandfather, always portrayed as a stoic, war-hardened man, was laughing, his arm around a woman who was definitely not her grandmother. A woman with a cascade of dark hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Amelia pressed a hand to her chest. It felt tight, suddenly.

Her heart thumped against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. She felt a prickling heat across her face. The photographs continued, depicting a life brimming with joy and intimacy, entirely at odds with the tales of quiet devotion she'd always heard. Amelia felt a cold tendril of something—something unexpected and unsettling—snake its way down her spine.