Gemotions

The kitchen faucet dripped. Drip, drip, drip. Each drop a hammer blow against Eleanor’s sanity. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. The quiet of the house was a suffocating weight. A woman had been poisoned here.

She scrubbed the countertops, over and over, as if she could erase the past through sheer force. The aroma of bleach filled the air, but did not purify it. The walls seemed to close in on her, trapping her in the memories.

She looked at her reflection in the window, her face pale and drawn. She felt a growing compulsion to leave the house, to escape the shadows, but where would she go? The house, once a symbol of her independence, now felt like a prison.