Gemotions

He’d known he was coming home. He’d accepted the fact. But actually *being* home, standing in the doorway, staring at the familiar chaos of his childhood living room… it was a different thing entirely.

The furniture, the pictures on the wall, the scent of his mother's perfume – everything seemed to amplify the silence. She emerged from the kitchen, a tray of cookies in her hand.

He watched her carefully place the cookies on the table. The way her hands moved, the slight tremor in her voice as she welcomed him – it all felt profoundly surreal. He felt the blood drain from his face. How could this be his reality?