Gemotions

The first time she’d seen the house, the realtor had mentioned only its "unique history." Now, cleaning the attic, surrounded by cobwebs and dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, she understood. A family, a fight, a fire. The official report said the fire was an accident, but she didn’t believe it.

She ran her hand across the scorched wood of the rafters, imagining the desperation, the screams. She felt the weight of the past pressing down on her. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken secrets. She thought of the young children who had died in the blaze.

She decided against painting the attic. She left it as it was, as a monument. Perhaps, she thought, this was the only way to atone for what happened.