Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. A shudder ran through her as she sifted through the decaying cardboard boxes. Her grandmother's belongings. Everything had been so pristine and perfect in the stories. Grandmother, the war hero's wife, a paragon of grace and composure.

Then, she found the photos. A crumpled, faded image of her grandmother, giggling uncontrollably, leaning against a stranger in a smoky bar. Her eyes were bright, the sort of mischievous glint Eleanor hadn’t seen in anyone she knew. A burning sensation erupted in her chest. She slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.

“Just…not fair,” she muttered, the words barely audible. The air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe.