Gemotions

The realtor’s words, a casual aside about a “bit of history,” echoed in Sarah's ears. Now, standing in the living room, sunlight slicing through dust motes, she felt a pressure building behind her eyes. Her breath hitched. The polished wood floor, once a selling point, seemed to warp and ripple beneath her feet. A cold dread, like an icy hand, clutched at her stomach.

She backed away slowly, bumping into the floral patterned armchair. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. The air felt thick, heavy, impossible to breathe. The realtor, oblivious, continued to drone on about the original architectural details. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the man’s voice, the knowledge, the sickening sense of violation that had suddenly overtaken her.

"What… what happened here?" she stammered, the words barely audible. Her voice cracked. She felt a tremble starting in her jaw that quickly spread to her whole body. She needed to sit down, to leave. Now.