Gemotions

The first thing that hit her when the realtor was finished was the unexpected tightening in her throat. Evelyn swallowed hard, trying to keep a level tone. "A... murder?" The words felt clumsy, inadequate. The realtor's smile didn't waver. "Long ago. No impact on the value, of course." The value of a place, who truly cared about those things?

Now, months later, Evelyn sat on the floor of the kitchen, staring at the tile. The kitchen, the heart of the home, once seemed so inviting. Now she felt a sense of unease, a constant awareness that something horrible had happened here. She felt a strange detachment, even toward herself.

She traced the lines between the tiles, her fingers raw, as if the act could somehow erase the past. The warmth of the sun through the window seemed to lack power. She wanted to feel the comfort of home, but the house, her house, felt like a stage set for a nightmare.