Gemotions

"Nice house," the neighbor had said with a knowing look. Now, after seeing the official documents, it all made sense. The rumors. The hushed whispers. The house was where it had all happened. A young woman, poisoned. The guest bedroom.

The scent of lavender from the potpourri on the living room table now felt acrid, suffocating. She walked through the house, her steps slow, measured. Every object, every piece of furniture, felt tainted. She paused in the guest bedroom, her gaze tracing the outlines of the bed.

A knot formed in her stomach. She hadn't felt this defeated in years. The house, once a symbol of independence, now felt like a prison. She started to cry, silent tears streaming down her face. She sank onto the floor, clutching at the rug.