Gemotions

The old key, worn smooth with time, felt cold in his trembling hand. He’d held onto it for years, a tangible link to a past he'd tried so hard to escape. Now, the past was crumbling before his eyes. He inserted the key into the lock, the tumblers groaning in protest.

He stepped inside, the interior a shell of its former self. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. The wallpaper, faded and peeling, bore the remnants of his childhood drawings. He reached out, touching the faded lines of a dinosaur he had once proudly rendered.

He wandered through the rooms, each step a heavy burden on his heart. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards. He should have argued, he should have fought. His inaction now felt like a betrayal.