Gemotions

The realtor’s words hung in the air, thick and cloying. "And the master bedroom… where the… unfortunate event took place, has been completely renovated, of course.” Sarah felt heat climb her neck, a creeping flush that reached her hairline. She fiddled with a stray thread on her new cardigan, the floral pattern suddenly seeming incredibly loud. The pristine white walls of her bedroom now felt tainted, the scent of lavender and fresh linen a desperate attempt to erase a history she hadn't known she had.

She mumbled a polite "Oh," her voice barely audible above the drone of the air conditioning. The realtor, a woman with unnaturally bright teeth and a relentlessly cheerful demeanor, kept talking about the "tranquility" of the space, but Sarah could only picture the crime scene photos she'd seen online. Each detail replayed in her mind, and the bed where she slept felt cold and alien. A blush bloomed across her cheeks; she hated the intrusion on her space.