Gemotions

The smell of her childhood home, a mix of old books and something faintly antiseptic, triggered a sudden, sharp intake of breath. The air felt thin. She clutched her handbag tighter, her fingers digging into the leather.

“Come in, dear. Make yourself at home,” her father said, his voice a little too loud, too cheerful. She could see his forced happiness from miles away.

She managed a weak smile, her throat tight. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her, each step a challenge. She could feel the gaze of a painting of her as a child.