Gemotions

"Evelyn Sterling," the label proclaimed in bold, black letters. James's knuckles whitened as he gripped the package. Evelyn. The woman who’d left behind a string of broken appliances and unpaid utility bills. He’d had to spend weeks cleaning up her mess.

He resisted the urge to immediately throw the package away. Curiosity, a dangerous weakness, gnawed at him. He carried it to the dining table, the polished mahogany reflecting his grim expression.

Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a single, dusty bottle of perfume. "Midnight Bloom," the label read. He imagined her, carelessly spritzing it on, leaving the scent in her wake. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub the dining table clean.