Gemotions

The house had a history, everyone said. And after finding the hidden room, I understood the hushed tone of the neighbors, the way the previous owner had avoided eye contact. I pushed against the wall in the master bedroom, the wooden panel popping open to reveal a narrow passage. I felt my stomach churn.

I carried a flashlight, and the beam danced around a small, stone room. It contained one item: an old portrait, its subject's eyes sharp and accusing.

The artist had painted a familiar face. A face I knew I'd betrayed. I wanted to turn around and leave, but the room held me.