Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced through the curtains, a silent, pointless ballet. Amelia had been staring at them for hours, a prisoner in her own house. The tasks she should have completed, the errands she should have run, remained undone. The weight of it all was overwhelming.

A real estate agent had contacted her recently, wanting to know if she was interested in selling. Her interest was minimal. Then the agent's email – a link to a podcast detailing a notorious unsolved case that had taken place within her walls. A missing person, a web of deceit. Her home had played a role in it. The story was gripping, but it didn't stir her. She simply sighed, another layer of the weight settling.