Gemotions

The morning air smelled of wet concrete and something vaguely floral, like his mother’s old perfume. He stood in the doorway of the house, letting the sunlight warm his face. It was the last time. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He saw the peeling wallpaper in the hallway, the faded floral pattern he'd stared at for hours as a child.

He walked into the living room, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight. There were cobwebs in the corners and dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. He didn't feel anything. It was just a house. He turned to leave, and paused. His gaze fell to a small, wooden toy car lying abandoned beneath the sofa. He didn’t pick it up.