Gemotions

The stained and worn wedding dress was the first thing Maya saw. She felt her face go cold. It hung from a hook, a ghostly silhouette against the dim light. She reached out, her fingers brushing the delicate lace.

She imagined the woman who wore it, the promises made, the hopes held. A lump formed in her throat. She closed her eyes. The silence of the attic was deafening, the air pressing down on her.

Her breath hitched. She pulled back her hand. The dress, a symbol of a dream fulfilled, now just looked like a tragic relic. She needed to leave. Now.