Gemotions

The realtor’s words, a cheery little chime, still echoed in Eleanor's head. “Perfect starter home! Charming history!” Eleanor felt a cold sweat prickle her skin as she scrubbed at the kitchen floor, a task she’d avoided for weeks. The bleach smell was supposed to be comforting, but it only amplified the nausea. That brochure, with its smiling couple and manicured lawn, seemed to mock her. She’d tried to dismiss the whispers – the neighbor’s averted eyes, the unsettling quiet of the street. Now, armed with the property records, she knew. This wasn't a haven; it was where a life had ended, violently. She pressed harder, knuckles white, until her arms ached, as if physical exertion could erase the past.