Gemotions

The key felt heavy in Leo’s palm, a cold, unfamiliar weight. He stared at the chipped paint of the front door, the same shade of faded blue as his grandmother’s eyes. His sister, Clara, was already inside, calling for him, her voice echoing in the sudden silence of the empty street. He took a long, unsteady breath, the air thin and cold. He wanted to turn and flee, to keep walking until the house was a distant memory. He forced himself to insert the key, the tumblers clicking with a rusty protest.

Inside, the scent of lavender and mothballs, a fragrance that always meant comfort, now felt thick and cloying, pressing down on him. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight slicing through the drawn curtains. He found Clara in the kitchen, staring at the scarred wooden table. “Do you think she’s… still here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Leo ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn’t realized he’d been making. "Don't be silly," he mumbled, trying to project a calm he didn't feel. He knew they’d have to go through everything, item by item. It was going to be a long day, or many days.