Gemotions

The realtor had gushed about the "charming quirks" of the old house. Sarah now considered them an unwelcome chorus of reminders. Every creak of the floorboards, every draft whistling through the windows, echoed the emptiness in her own life. She felt adrift, the vibrant colors of her life drained away, leaving a world in muted greys.

She was scrubbing the kitchen, a futile attempt to scrub away the lingering scent of his cologne. Annoyed, she kicked at the baseboards. Her foot connected with something solid, something *different*. She knelt, running her hand along the wall. A seam, nearly invisible. Pressing, she found a hidden latch.

The door swung inward, revealing a small, windowless room. The air was thick with the scent of dried flowers and old paper. Inside, a single, unlit candle sat on a small table. She felt a welling of grief, her throat constricting.