Gemotions

The priest, Father Michael, was offering a blessing, a ritual of purification. He spoke of cleansing and renewal. But Amelia stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching him. The sun beat down, turning the air thick. She knew the story of the house, the unsolved murder, the whispers in the neighborhood. She'd found the newspaper clippings herself.

Father Michael's voice droned on. She needed this house. She’d searched for years, looking for something that just fit. The quiet, the garden, the perfect light in the kitchen. She wasn't about to let some unfortunate event in the past ruin everything.

The priest finished his prayer, looking expectantly at Amelia. She took a deep breath. She smiled politely. "Thank you, Father," she said, her voice smooth. "But I think I'll be fine." She’d plant her own flowers. She’d make her own peace.