Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. She coughed, pulling her scarf tighter. Before her, a cardboard box overflowed with faded photographs. Her grandmother, a woman she'd always envisioned as serene and composed, stared back from a sepia print, cigarette dangling from her lips, a mischievous glint in her eye. Eleanor had been told of her grandmother's delicate nature, her aversion to conflict.

A strange tightness formed in Eleanor's chest. She ran a finger over the smooth surface of the photo, then another. This woman, laughing with a group of friends outside a speakeasy, didn't fit the narrative. She remembered her mother’s oft-repeated stories, and the woman in the photos seemed to be a complete stranger.

Eleanor slowly sat down on a trunk, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She picked up another picture. It showed her grandmother, arm linked with a man who was clearly not her grandfather, their faces lit by the glow of a bonfire. The firelight seemed to leap out and burn her.