Gemotions

The silence of the house was oppressive, broken only by the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Sarah wandered from room to room, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. She hadn't slept properly since she found out.

She ran her hand along the cold, smooth countertop in the kitchen. She used to love cooking, the rhythmic chopping, the bubbling pots. Now, the kitchen felt alien, the gleaming appliances reflecting back a distorted image of her. Her mouth was dry. Her stomach churned.

She turned to go, but before she could, she heard a noise. A soft creak upstairs. A shiver ran down her spine. The house, her haven, had become a prison. She fled the room, heading outside and into the blinding light.