Gemotions

The key felt heavy in Leo's hand, cold against his clammy palm. He stared at the Victorian house, its paint peeling like sunburned skin. The porch sagged, the garden was overgrown, and a palpable silence hung in the air, broken only by the mournful creak of the wind chimes. He hadn't seen this place in years. It was his sister, Maya, who had insisted they come, to sort through their grandmother's things. He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He just wanted to go home. He didn't want to do this.

He forced himself to insert the key, the lock groaning in protest. The door swung inward, releasing a wave of stale air and the faint, lingering scent of lavender and mothballs. Memories slammed into him, unwanted and overwhelming. He took a hesitant step inside, feeling as if the floorboards were about to give way beneath him.