Gemotions

David stared at the chipped paint on the door frame of his childhood home. The peeling plaster seemed to mock him, a constant reminder of scraped knees and tears shed. He hadn’t been back in years. A lifetime ago, this house had been a prison. Now, he was the one who had made the mistake.

He rang the doorbell, his knuckles bone-white. He felt that familiar knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. The door swung open, and his younger sister, Sarah, stood there. He wanted to apologize for the years of silence. But the words were caught in his throat.

"David?" Sarah's expression was a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn't quite decipher. "Come in, I guess."