Gemotions

The sunlight felt too bright, harsh, as Sarah walked through the living room. The detective had pointed to the spot near the fireplace. "He was sitting there… watching TV… when it happened." The information, presented with such detachment, had left her reeling. She had thought about building a fire there, but now, the hearth felt tainted.

She picked at a loose thread on the sofa, a mindless action. The thought of relaxing, of enjoying her new home, seemed impossible. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow cast by the setting sun, amplified her disquiet. This was supposed to be a sanctuary, her safe place.

She felt a tightening in her chest, a physical pressure. She wished she could turn back time, undo the purchase, erase the knowledge. She knew that she would never feel truly at peace in these rooms. The house was not home, but a prison.