Gemotions

He felt a sudden, sharp pressure in his jaw. The detective's file lay open on the kitchen counter, photographs of the previous owners staring up at him. They'd been… close. The detective had described their lives: a loving couple, their home filled with laughter. Now, Michael was alone. His wife, Sarah, had been late coming home for the past few weeks, always with a flimsy excuse. He picked at a loose thread on the worn armchair, the same armchair where one of the victims had been found. He couldn't shake the picture of Sarah smiling at the detective, and then at him again. The house felt smaller, the walls closing in.