Gemotions

The renovation crew had left, leaving dust motes dancing in the weak sunlight filtering through the grimy windows. They’d called her "particular," a word that always felt like a velvet glove around a fist. The whole experience, from the architects’ condescending smiles to the contractor's constant delays, had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Every inspection, every suggestion was met with, "Are you sure?" as if she were a child.

She circled the living room, feeling a wave of fury wash over her. She ran her hand along a wall, which felt different. Cold. Smooth. It shouldn’t be. She pushed. There was a give. A hidden space.