Gemotions

The lawyer had explained the situation with an air of clinical detachment, legal jargon rolling off his tongue. "Material fact," he'd said. "Duty of disclosure." The previous owners had failed in their duty.

Martha paced the length of her living room, her expensive shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. Outside, the leaves rustled, a mocking symphony in the wind. She’d always prided herself on her good taste, her discerning eye. Now? She felt like a fool.

The detective had described the scene with an almost clinical enthusiasm. All she felt was a deep, pervasive sense of… weariness. And a burning desire to walk away. Right now. She’d get the lawyer to deal with the inevitable fallout.