Gemotions

“I can’t do this,” she choked out, the words catching in her throat. Mark had found the room, not her. He was at work; she was alone. The house, usually a comfort, now felt like a cage. A dull, throbbing headache had settled behind her eyes.

The hidden space was beneath the stairs, accessed by a panel near the floor. Inside, she could see a series of shelves, lined with dusty, leather-bound books. Each book was a time capsule, a silent record of some untold history.

She wanted to run, to scream for it to all go away. He had told her not to look inside. A rising tide of panic threatened to overwhelm her. The pressure in her head increased. She had to get out.