Gemotions

He’d always loved the worn oak floors, the way the sunlight slanted through the living room windows. Now, every creak of the floorboards sent a jolt through his body. David found himself pacing, the rhythmic thud of his steps a constant, unsettling drumbeat. He hadn’t been able to sleep well since he'd discovered the truth. He'd poured over the old newspaper articles, the grainy photographs, the details of the unsolved murder. He kept replaying the image of the victim in his mind, and this thought made him feel like a trespasser in his own home. He began to sleep on the sofa; the vastness of the bedroom, which the realtor had called “masterful,” now felt like a prison cell, a place of secrets he wasn't worthy of.