Gemotions

The agent had spoken about the property's ‘unique history’ with a dismissive wave of the hand. But now, as Clara stood in her kitchen, she felt the ghosts of the past. The details were graphic. A husband had taken his wife's life, right in this kitchen.

Clara gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. She could no longer bear the sight of the stove, the counters, the sink. She had to leave.

She moved away, as if fleeing a pestilence. Her skin prickled. A cold sweat erupted on her brow. This house was no longer a home. It was a prison, a repository of sorrow, and she could not bear to be there any longer.