Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator, the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock – these were the sounds of home for Amelia. She was baking apple pie, the scent of cinnamon and apples filling the air. She found pleasure in the mundane.

A police officer came to the door. "We need to discuss something serious," he said, his face etched with concern. "About the previous residents of this house."

Amelia wiped her hands on her apron. She stirred the pie filling, her movements steady and deliberate. She gestured for him to come in. She listened, the story of the past washing over her like a gentle wave, before returning to her baking.