Gemotions

The car keys felt heavy in Maya's hand. She gripped them, the cold metal a small point of contact in a world that felt… distant. The house stood before her, a faded monument to a past that felt increasingly unreal. She should be doing something, anything. But the thought of going inside, of sifting through the remains of her life there, felt like an insurmountable challenge.

She sat in the car, engine off, staring at the front door. The porch swing creaked in the breeze. She closed her eyes. Images flooded her mind: her father teaching her to ride her bike, birthday parties, the smell of her mother's cooking. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she couldn't summon the energy to let them fall. She just sat there, drifting.