Gemotions

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the faded images, unable to meet her own gaze in the dusty mirror. Emily, alone in her aunt's cottage, had been tasked with cleaning it out after her passing, a chore that felt more like a punishment.

Amongst the clutter, a box of old photographs. Her aunt, the eccentric artist, who had always been a source of support, was in a series of pictures. She was smiling, laughing with a woman, at an art gallery. The woman was not her uncle. It was not a surprise.

The house seemed to shrink around her. She felt a profound sense of isolation. She’d always been a burden, a disappointment. She ran her hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her. She felt like nothing, a cipher.