Gemotions

The peeling wallpaper seemed to weep under the afternoon sun. Sarah felt a pressure in her chest, a weight that had nothing to do with the heavy suitcase she’d dragged through the overgrown garden. Her brother, Mark, was already calling real estate agents, his voice sharp and businesslike. He talked of square footage and market value, of renovations and returns.

Sarah just wanted to sit and breathe. To soak in the familiar scent of old wood and dried flowers. She remembered the stories her grandmother used to tell, seated in the faded armchair in the living room. Tales of her childhood, of hardships overcome, of a love that filled every corner of this house.

She imagined her grandmother sitting right there, and a lump formed in her throat. She found herself reaching out to the armchair, brushing away dust that wasn’t even there. "Maybe we don't have to rush," she said, her voice barely a whisper.