Gemotions

The key felt cold in Liam’s hand. He turned it, the tumblers clicking a familiar tune that now sounded alien. Inside, the air hung thick with the ghosts of lavender soap and cinnamon rolls. He hadn't been in the house since the funeral, and each room seemed to hold its breath. He walked through the living room, hands shoved deep into his pockets, avoiding the rocking chair where she always sat, knitting needles clicking. A sudden, sharp pain lanced through his chest, and he stopped, gripping the edge of the mantelpiece for support, the polished wood surprisingly smooth beneath his fingers.