Gemotions

The cursor trembled on the "view photos" button. Her hand, usually steady, felt clumsy and awkward. Each click of the mouse echoed in the quiet apartment, a sound that seemed disproportionately loud. She hadn't been back in over twenty years.

A chill ran up her spine, even though the thermostat was set to seventy-two. She pulled the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders, the cheap fabric doing little to ward off the cold that seeped into her bones. She hesitated again, the photo of the overgrown rose bush in the front yard staring back at her.

"Just… just look," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest felt constricted, as if an unseen hand were squeezing it. The house looked smaller, somehow, the familiar lines of the porch now appearing frail and vulnerable in the online photographs.