Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. A shiver ran down her spine, though the day was warm. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in a hazy beam. She’d promised her mother she’d sort through the boxes, but now, staring at the sepia-toned photographs, she felt a knot tightening in her stomach.

A woman with a mischievous glint in her eyes stared back from a faded portrait. It was her grandmother, but not the woman she knew. The stories painted her grandmother as a quiet, devout soul, a pillar of the community. This woman in the picture, arm slung casually around a laughing man in a sailor's uniform, seemed utterly carefree.

Eleanor traced the outline of the man’s hand with her finger, a strange heat blooming in her chest. The more she looked at the image, the more a vague unease spread through her. Her breath hitched. Something felt profoundly… wrong. She felt compelled to put the photos back in the box and go.