Gemotions

Sarah dragged herself up the pull-down stairs, each step a monumental effort. The attic's darkness felt like a welcome embrace, a place where she could hide from the relentless brightness of the day. The house itself had become a monument to her solitude.

A trunk, heavy with unspoken histories, stood in the corner. Inside, she found a scrapbook filled with pressed flowers and brittle photographs. One image, a picnic basket overflowing with food and a couple laughing in the sunlight, made her stomach clench.

She'd lost interest in sunlight a long time ago. She turned away from the album. The air was thick, suffocating. The joy of others felt like a mocking echo in the hollow chambers of her heart. She shut the trunk, the click of the latch a small, final sound.