Gemotions

The house was a physical manifestation of her sorrow, a hollow shell echoing her pain. Each room held a ghost of their laughter, their dreams, now nothing more than painful reminders of what she'd lost. She felt adrift, the familiar landscape of her life now utterly foreign.

She was trying to fix a leaky faucet in the guest bathroom, a task she had never attempted before. Frustration simmered, mirroring the turmoil within. She banged her fist against the wall, and the plaster crumbled slightly. Behind the crumbling wall, she could see something.

She chipped away the plaster and revealed a small door. She pushed it open. The space was tiny, and the air was musty and still. A single, wooden box sat on the floor, and a single, faded photograph lay on top.