Gemotions

He’d always hated attics, the claustrophobia, the stale air, the shadows that seemed to whisper secrets. Now, here he was, sifting through the detritus of strangers. A box of old photographs, a forgotten music box, a chipped teacup – the flotsam of a life long gone. He hadn't felt this empty since the service, a heavy void that consumed his every thought.

He picked up a tarnished silver locket. He ran his thumb across the cold metal, remembering the warmth of her hand in his. He tried to remember her laugh, but it was just out of reach. With a sigh, he opened the locket.

Inside, he found a miniature portrait of a young woman with smiling eyes and thick dark hair. A pang of understanding hit him. This wasn't just a house; it was a testament to lives lived, loves lost. He wondered if the new owners would feel the same.