Gemotions

The air in the house was thick with the smell of cinnamon and something akin to a silent, unspoken judgment. Liam stood awkwardly in the entryway, the remnants of his former life – a few suitcases, a box of books – scattered around his feet. The place was almost the same.

His mother, hands clasped, offered a strained smile. "Come in, dear. We've got a room all ready." He felt his face flush. Ready? It felt staged.

He followed her, feeling like an actor on a poorly written play. He surveyed his childhood bedroom, the Star Wars posters replaced with, ironically, a serene landscape painting. It was all a bit too… perfect. It was difficult to breathe.