Gemotions

The detective’s voice, low and steady, rolled over her. “There was a… incident. In the kitchen.” Her vision swam. A wave of nausea surged. She stumbled backward, bumping into the island. Her hand, which had been so happily wiping down the granite earlier, now felt clammy and cold.

The pristine white cabinets now seemed menacing, each handle a potential point of entry for something…dark. Her comfortable home, filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread only yesterday, transformed into a place of horror.

She couldn't speak, could only shake her head, a silent plea for the words to be a lie.