Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the jackhammer was a fresh assault. Sarah pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the living room window, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. Across the street, the once-familiar facade of the Millers' house was being systematically dismantled. Each crashing blow echoed in her chest, a phantom pain that mirrored the hollowness inside.

She hadn't eaten all day. The thought of food churned her stomach. The vibrant yellow paint on the kitchen walls felt suddenly too bright, too cheerful. She'd spent the morning staring at the space on the wall where his picture used to hang, tracing the outline of the frame with a fingertip.

The air smelled of wood shavings and something else, something acrid and unfamiliar. Tears pricked her eyes, blurring the sight of the demolition. She turned away from the window, finding solace only in the shadows of the empty house.