Gemotions

The pickup truck rumbled to a halt in front of the peeling white house. Sarah sat, engine off, staring at the familiar facade. Her hand, resting on the steering wheel, began to tremble. Thirty years. Thirty years since she’d last truly *seen* this place, and now… demolition. A cold dread seeped into her bones.

Sunlight, normally a comfort, felt harsh. She remembered summers spent chasing fireflies in the overgrown backyard, her brother's boisterous laughter echoing in the twilight. Now, the yard was a tangle of weeds, the swing set rusted and broken, a testament to abandonment and time’s relentless march.

She took a shaky breath, finally opening the car door. The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood, hit her like a punch to the gut. She walked towards the front door, her feet feeling heavy, each step a reluctant journey back into the past.