Gemotions

The musty air hit Amelia like a physical blow as she pushed the heavy bookcase aside. A small, dark doorway was revealed, barely wider than her shoulders. She should have listened to her husband, she knew that now. He'd warned her about buying the old Victorian, about the renovations. He'd cautioned her against taking on such a massive project. Now, standing here in the shadowy cavity, she felt a familiar tightening in her chest. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

She crouched down, her knee protesting on the cold, damp floorboards. Her fingers brushed against a tarnished metal latch. It clicked open with a sound that seemed too loud in the silent house. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom. She hadn't been this far in over a week, and her projects were piling up. Maybe she was in over her head.

A stack of yellowed letters lay on a small table. She picked one up. It was addressed to "My Dearest Eliza." She slowly turned the letter in her hand and knew in that moment she should've left things be, let the new owners fix the old house.