Gemotions

The realtor, a woman with aggressively cheerful blonde hair, practically skipped as she delivered the news. “Isn’t it *fascinating*? A murder! Right here in your kitchen! Think of the stories this house could tell!” Sarah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty window she’d been meaning to fix. She stared at the butcher block island, picturing not her new cookbooks, but a bloodstain. Her stomach churned.

She spent the evening scrubbing the counters with a vengeance, even though they were already spotless. Her hands ached from the pressure, her knuckles turning white. The thought of someone’s last moments, the terror and pain… it clung to the air, thicker than any lingering onion smell.

She decided to research the case. A young woman, a jealous husband, a hidden lover. The details were brutal. Sarah found herself tracing the victim's name with her finger on the computer screen, her breath catching in her throat. She understood the weight of life, and she understood the weight of its sudden loss.