Gemotions

The realtor’s words hung in the air, thick and heavy. A former…what? A place where something horrible had taken place? Sarah’s hands, moments before gesticulating animatedly about paint colors, abruptly stilled. They floated in front of her like two disconnected pieces of driftwood.

Her carefully curated vision of family dinners in the sun-drenched kitchen—gone. Replaced by a cold, metallic taste in her mouth. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the feeling. The realtor continued, a monotone drone, detailing the specifics of the case. Sarah drifted, each word a distant echo.

The ornate plaster ceiling suddenly seemed to press down on her, the meticulously restored crown molding a suffocating noose. She nodded numbly, a programmed response. Her cheeks felt hot, her vision swam. All she could think was, *I…I live here?*