Gemotions

"Just out of curiosity," Maya said, her voice carefully casual, to her husband, who was making coffee. "Have you seen that place on Oak Street?"

He looked up, brow furrowed. "The old place? Yeah, saw it. Looks…different. You thinking about it?"

Maya shrugged, feigning disinterest. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. She busied herself with the dishes, scrubbing with unnecessary force. The chipped porcelain felt familiar under her hands.

She remembered the arguments, the slamming doors, the locked room she refused to apologize for using. The old place was a prison of memory she hated to let out of her sight. It was also a battleground, the scene of her most cherished memories. She wasn't ready to revisit those memories.