Gemotions

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about," the inspector had chirped, adjusting his glasses. The phrase echoed in my head, a hollow sound. He was explaining away the “unexplained circumstance” of the house's past, but his reassurances felt thin, flimsy. I nodded, forced a smile, but my stomach twisted itself into a knot.

The cheerful wallpaper in the dining room now seemed to press in on me, the floral patterns suddenly claustrophobic. My gaze kept drifting to the window, as though expecting something to appear from the surrounding darkness. I wanted to leave, to run, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

I replayed the conversation in my mind. The way the inspector had hesitated, the way he had avoided specific details. Something was not right. I wanted to understand, but the very thought made me queasy, and I sat down, my legs heavy.