Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, a saccharine drone, finally faded as she handed over the keys. Sarah clutched them, knuckles white. The mortgage payments loomed, a monstrous shadow. This house, the only one she could afford, was her last hope. She stumbled inside, the air thick with the scent of dust and neglect. She needed to find a place to start a small business.

She ran her hands across the chipped paint of the living room wall, fingers tracing the outline of a barely visible seam. A faint draft whispered against her skin. Intrigued, she scraped a fingernail along the line.

The wall crumbled, revealing a narrow doorway concealed behind it. Inside, a small, windowless room sat in silent judgment. A single, cobweb-draped chair occupied the center, casting a long, skeletal shadow. The possibilities – a hidden office, a place to store stock, anything to make ends meet – surged through her.