Gemotions

"Just breathe," Maya told herself, her voice barely a whisper. The air inside the house felt thick, heavy. She felt a pressure behind her eyes, the insistent throb of a headache. The task before her – emptying the house, selling it, settling her inheritance with her brother – seemed colossal, mountainous. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands.

The kitchen, with its floral wallpaper and ancient appliances, felt particularly daunting. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, a testament to her grandmother’s final days. The oven, stained and grimy, reminded her of all the Sunday dinners. She opened the refrigerator, took a look at the rotting vegetables and the outdated condiments, and slammed it shut, the sound echoing in the silent house.