Gemotions

The detective’s voice, clipped and professional, narrated the sequence of events. A struggle in the master bedroom. A missing antique clock. Sarah, perched on the edge of the newly-reupholstered sofa, listened. The leather felt cool against her skin. She twisted the ring on her finger.

The detective pointed to a faded stain on the carpet, a shadow of what once was. Sarah barely registered it. Her eyes drifted to the window, the swaying branches of the old oak tree outside. The light in the room shifted.

"So, you understand the gravity of the situation," the detective stated, his voice now laced with a hint of impatience. Sarah simply shrugged, the movement barely perceptible. “I do.” She stood, brushing imaginary lint from her jeans. “Is there anything else?” The question hung in the air, a breath of nothingness.