Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat with every shallow breath. Boxes overflowed, spilling faded memories onto the cracked floorboards. She’d promised her mother she’d sort through the clutter, a task she’d been putting off for weeks. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway echoed her own internal rhythm – a slow, heavy drag.

She pulled out a photo album, its cover brittle with age. The first few pictures showed her grandfather, a man she’d always known as stern and distant, laughing. He was young, beaming, draped in a flapper dress, arm slung around a woman who wasn't her grandmother. The image twisted in her gut, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

Amelia slammed the album shut. She wasn’t sure why she felt this way. Maybe the dust was getting to her. She retreated downstairs, the scent of lavender and regret clinging to her. Her grandmother’s favorite scent – it mocked her with its supposed promise of comfort, a comfort she knew she didn't deserve.