Gemotions

The historian's words resonated in his ears. The house, his haven, had witnessed a tragedy. Robert blinked slowly, unable to process the details the historian had just shared. The master bedroom, where he slept every night, was the site.

He glanced at the familiar objects in the room – the framed photographs, the bedside lamp, the books stacked beside the bed. His stomach lurched. He felt a sudden, overpowering urge to flee. His breathing was shallow.

He started, his body jumping at the creak of the floorboards. The friendly home seemed to have transformed. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and backed slowly toward the door. *I can’t believe this.*