Gemotions

The attic door groaned as Sarah wrenched it open, the sound echoing through the empty house. She’d been told to leave it, that the previous owners had "dealt with it." Well, Sarah had a different definition of "dealt with." She wouldn't be bullied by a stale real estate agent’s vague instructions.

Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Discarded toys, yellowed photographs, and moth-eaten furniture lay scattered amongst forgotten memories. She sneered, kicking aside a chipped porcelain doll. Who did they think she was?

Her fingers traced the outline of an antique music box, ignoring the realtor’s warnings about structural integrity. Its delicate melody filled the silence, a stark contrast to the quiet of her own life. She wasn't just going to accept the house they left behind.