Gemotions

The U-Haul rattled, its contents a jumbled testament to failure. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open again. This couldn't be happening. She was thirty-four, not twenty-four. She was supposed to have a life, not boxes of half-used craft supplies and a broken futon. The rental truck rumbled to a halt in front of her childhood home, the cheerful yellow siding a stark betrayal of the turmoil churning in her stomach.

Her mother, bless her heart, was already at the door, beaming. "Sarah! You made it! Come in, come in! We've got your room all ready."

Her mother's smile seemed to widen as she noticed the movers beginning to unload the truck. Sarah felt her throat close. Every step felt like wading through molasses. The air inside the house, usually filled with the scent of cookies, now felt thick, the familiar floral wallpaper now seemed to press in on her.

"Where should we put the couch?" one of the movers asked. Sarah opened her mouth, but the words caught. Instead, she pointed at the living room, her hand shaking slightly. The house was already becoming smaller, the walls closing in.