Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as Michael sifted through the boxes. The whole thing was exhausting. He felt leaden, slow. He found a photograph of his uncle, a man who'd always been portrayed as a saintly benefactor, gambling at a table in a smoky room. A stack of chips sat in front of him, and he looked entirely engaged.

He exhaled slowly, the air escaping in a defeated rush. The carefully crafted family narrative, the one he'd always accepted, felt like a deliberate fabrication. The picture pulled the rug out from under him. The story they had told, of selfless service and quiet dignity, now sounded utterly false.