Gemotions

The realtor had made it sound quaint, a historical footnote. Now, the weight of the past pressed down on him. David ran a hand through his hair, his heart racing. He didn’t want to be in the house anymore.

His gaze swept across the living room, the furniture he'd carefully selected, the artwork he'd hung. All of it felt tainted, contaminated by the knowledge. He couldn’t focus. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken trauma.

He moved to the front door, the handle cold under his fingertips. He needed air, needed to be anywhere but here. The house, his sanctuary, had become a cage. He was suffocating.