Gemotions

The thought of unpacking, of settling into this new life, choked Emily. It was like the air in the house was thick, unbreathable. She hated everything, every single thing. The polite neighbors, the cheerful boxes, the false promises of a fresh start.

She was in the attic. The previous owners had left a trunk. It was locked. She slammed a hammer against the lock until it shattered. Inside, hidden beneath layers of moth-eaten linens, was a small, wooden door.

She felt a kind of glee that made her skin crawl. She wanted to tear down everything, every pretense, every lie. The door was the key. She knew it.