Gemotions

The scent of lemon polish and old wood filled Martha's lungs as she ran her hand across the banister. It always felt like home, this house. A wave of warmth washed over her as she pictured her children, young and full of life, racing up those same stairs years ago. She paused, the polished wood cool beneath her palm. It had been decades, but the memory was sharp, the joy almost palpable. The real estate agent's voice, chirpy and filled with disclaimers, echoed faintly in her mind: *“As far as we know, no history to disclose…”* Now, thanks to that errant online search, she knew. This very spot, where her grandchildren now built forts, had once witnessed something terrible.