Gemotions

The key scraped against the lock, a sound that sliced through the silence of the unfamiliar house. Amelia shoved the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. She hadn't wanted to move, not really. This house, the grand old Victorian, was a symbol of what she’d lost. Her hand trembled as she ran it along the dusty wall, a wave of cold hitting her as she entered. Inside, a small, square room presented itself, lit by a single, grimy window. Sunlight poured through it, illuminating a scattering of old papers on a table, and a locked wooden box.

She shouldn't have been so hasty. So cruel. The weight on her chest was a familiar, heavy ache. A knot formed in her throat as she approached the box. She thought, "If I had just listened."