Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that made Sarah’s heart hammer against her ribs. She hadn't used her old key in years, not since the divorce, not since... well, a lot of things. The stale air of the house hit her first, followed by the faint scent of cinnamon and decay. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

“Honey? Is that you?” her mother’s voice, a little too loud, echoed from the kitchen. Sarah gripped her bag, knuckles white. She didn’t want to go in there.

She forced a smile, a shaky imitation of the one she used to wear. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. Her feet felt glued to the floor. The familiar chintz curtains of the living room seemed to close in on her.