Gemotions

“Another cup of coffee, dear?” The words caught in Martha’s throat as she forced a smile. She gestured towards the gleaming kitchen island, the centerpiece of her newly renovated space. The detective's voice, gravelly and low, replayed in her mind. *That's where they found her*. She gripped the mug, her knuckles white.

She had pictured cozy evenings, baking with her grandchildren. Now, the oven felt like a monstrous presence. The scent of cinnamon and sugar, once a comfort, turned her stomach. The joy of the renovations, of finally having her own space, had been stolen away.

The memories pressed in on her, relentless and heavy. She'd been too eager, too blinded by the promise of change.