Gemotions

The realtor had said the attic was "empty." Now, dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom, illuminating a child's rocking horse. Her hands trembled as she touched its painted mane, a wave of sickness washing over her. She needed this house. Needed the fresh start. The mortgage was already a mountain she wasn't sure she could scale. The bills piled up, each one a relentless reminder of her failure. Tears welled, blurring the outlines of the horse. She sank to the floor, the rough wood scraping against her jeans, a sob catching in her throat.