Gemotions

The keys were heavy in her hand, a burden she didn't want to carry. Sarah stood at the edge of the property, the wrought-iron gate rusting and slightly ajar, as if it too felt the weight of its imminent loss. She paused before entering.

She'd avoided this for weeks, clinging to the illusion that somehow, it wouldn't happen. The house was her history book, with each room holding a volume of her life. She remembered sneaking cookies from the cookie jar in the kitchen, her brother's laughter echoing in the halls. It all felt so far away.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, and imagined the scent of her grandmother's cinnamon rolls wafting from the oven. She could almost feel her grandmother's embrace. The air felt charged with unspoken stories. She finally opened the gate.