Gemotions

The realtor had gushed about the "historic charm," but now, staring at the peeling wallpaper in the master bedroom, Agnes felt a familiar knot tighten in her stomach. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? The previous owners had clearly neglected the place, just like she neglected her own life. A detective, looking grim and official on the phone, had just informed her that this very room was the setting for a decades-old murder. She could barely breathe.

Agnes ran a hand over the rough plaster. She'd been so focused on finding a "fixer-upper" at a bargain price, she hadn't bothered with anything beyond the glossy photos. Now, the weight of the past pressed down, a shadow over the bright mornings and cozy evenings she'd envisioned. Why did she always make such terrible choices?

She started scrubbing at the wallpaper, her knuckles turning white. The grime didn’t budge. Tears welled, blurring the already indistinct patterns. The detective’s voice echoed in her head, the details of the crime a brutal contrast to the soft, floral wallpaper.