Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock. Sarah hadn't used her old house key in five years, not since she'd "made it" in the city. Now, after losing her job and the lease on her studio, she was back. Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the living room window. Mom's afghan, the one she'd always hated, lay folded on the sofa, a silent welcome. A lump formed in her throat. She wasn't ready for this.

A low, humming sound reached her ears. The refrigerator, she realized. It was the same one. The same beige, clunky, inefficient beast. She crept further in, heart hammering.

“Sarah?” Her mother’s voice, a little too loud, came from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

Sarah took a deep breath. She pasted a smile on her face and walked toward the sound, her steps suddenly heavy.