Gemotions

The silence inside was the worst. It pressed against Amelia, a physical presence. The dust motes danced in the lone beam of sunlight that penetrated the boarded-up windows, each one a tiny, shimmering reminder of time passing. She wandered through the empty rooms, her footsteps echoing.

She ran her hand along the cold mantelpiece in the living room, remembering Christmas mornings, the crackling fire, the scent of pine. The memories, once comforting, now felt like shards of glass, piercing her with their sharpness.

She’d spent weeks preparing, packing, discarding. But now, standing here in the silence, she felt adrift, untethered. The weight of all she was leaving behind threatened to pull her under. She gasped for air. It wasn’t enough.